053 


RHYMES 

FROM 

TIME  TO  TIME 


/T^XZ 

(L     / 


/V*~^-y      *-<^-> 

x-  Q 

L^r^^^  #**+<• 


Rhymes  from  Time  to  Time 


RHYMES 

FROM 

TIME  TO  TIME 


BY 


WM.  CROSWELL  DOANE 

ft 


ALBANY,  N.  Y. 

RIGGS  PRINTING  &  PUBLISHING  CO. 
1901 


COPYRIGHT,  1901, 

BY 
RIGGS  PRINTING  &  PUBLISHING  CO. 


The  Riggs  Printing  and  Pub.  Co., 

Albany,  N.  Y. 


RHYMES  from 
TIME  to  TIME 

/HAVE  called  these  verses  by  their  right 
names.    They  do  not  pretend  to  be  poetry. 
I  believe  it  to  be  true  that  a  poet  cannot 
be  made  unless  he  is  so  born,  but  I  am  very  sure 
that  there  must  be  beside  the  birth,  much  labour 
in  the  making ;  and  that  a  busy  man,  toiling 
'with  the  plain  prose  of  routine  and  official  duties, 
has  no  time  left  for  this  "  labor  limte." 

I  am  old  enough  to  "dream  dreams"   and 
young    enough  still  to    "see  visions"  but  the 
dream  or  the  vision  of  authorship,  during  which 
the  first  rhyme  published  in  this  volume  must 
have  been  written,  long  ago  faded  and  melted 

away.      Still,  I  put  it  now  in  the  fore-front 

5 

M42661 


of  this  book,  to  'whose  publication  I  have  yielded 
under  a  long  pressure,  resistance  to  which  any 
longer  would  have  seemed  ungracious. 

I  am  quite  well  aware  that  the  book  will 
only  appeal  to  those,  and  they  are  many,  whose 
lives  have  touched  mine  in  some  personal  way. 
And  if  the  verses  seem  to  such  too  intimate  or 
too  intense  for  publication,  I  must  plead  the 
fact  that  I  have  carefully  culled  out  from  a 
multitude  of  verses  those  that  seemed  too  strongly 

personal  for  outside  eyes. 

W.  C.  D. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Salutatoria   7 

Christmas,  Bethlehem  Ephratah. 8 

Christmas,    December 9 

Christmas,  A.  D.  1896. » n 

Christmas  Song,  Albany  Hospital  Bazaar 13 

At  the  Manger 14 

Merry  Christmas,  A.  D.  1900 16 

Candlemas,  Purification  B.  V.  M 18 

Easter  Even,  A.  D.  1901 20 

Easter   21 

Easter   22 

Easter   24 

Thanksgiving   25 

All  Saints'   Day.. 27 

Marriage  Hymn  28 

Marriage  Hymn,  E.  G.  D.  G.  April  28,  A.  D.  1881 30 

For  Those  at  Sea 32 

Hospital  Hymn,  for  the  little  children  in  The  Childs'  Hos- 
pital   34 

Hymn,  Bicentenary  of  the  City  of  Albany 36 

Hymn,  sung  at  the  Two  Hundredth  Anniversary  of  the 

S.  P.  G.  in  London,  June  16,  1900 37 

O  Deus  Meus  Amo  Te  (St.  Francis  Xavier) 39 

PERSONAL 

My  Baby's  Face.    In  a  photograph.    A.  D.  1862 43 

"  I  Shall  Kiss  Both  of  Your  Eyes,  Papa."    A.  D.  1863, 

E.  G.  D 44 

Margaret  Harrison  Doane.    Baptized  by  My  Father,  Who 

Died  May,  A.  D.  1859.    The  Angels'  Day,  A.  D.  1859. . .  46 


PAGE 

My  Father's  Fifty- third  Birthday 48 

My  Father's  Memoir.  In  Pace 49 

Riverside.  October,  A.  D.  1859 50 

My  Mother.  Who  died  in  Florence 52 

The  Pastor  Croswell 55 

M.  D.  G.  With  a  copy  of  Tales  of  a  Grandfather 56 

In  Kenil worth  Camp.  Dr.  Trudeau's 58 

F.  Hopkinson  Smith.  Acknowledging  a  water  colour  sketch 

of  North  East  Harbour 59 

J.  P.  M.  October,  A.  D.  1895,  the  Standard  Bearer 60 

Thomas  Nelson  61 

To  Harriet  Langdon  Pruyn.  A  tinkle  of  her  Baptismal  Bell, 

1868 62 

A.  P.  P.  Annunciation,  Day 64 

MISCELLANEOUS 

Life  Sculpture  . 67 

Light  . .  68 

Gray  Cliff,  Newport 69 

Long  Branch.  August,  A.  D.  1859 71 

Under  the  Catskills  in  July 76 

The  Wind  and  the  Water 77 

Fata  Morgana 79 

On  a  Sun-Dial.  Horas  non  numero  nisi  serenas 80 

To  a  Violet  81 

Domine  Aperi  Labias  Nostras 82 

A  Prayer  84 

The  Litany.  "  That  it  may  please  Thee  to  defend  the 

fatherless  children ;  we  beseech  Thee  to  hear  us." ....  85 
A  Child's  Song.  I  cannot  sing,  for  Heaven  is  gone  away. 

A  little  girl's  saying 88 

Oh  Weary  Earth  93 

Tears  94 

Shells  96 

Rejected  Address  98 

Moonlight  99 

V.  M.  R.  Asleep  January  31,  1885 100 

October.  E.  G.  D.  G 101 

Nihil  Longe  Deo 103 


PAGE 

Yaddo.  December  24  104 

The  First  Soap  Bubble.  M.  S.  G. 105 

Shadows  107 

Through  the  Curtain.  M.  S.  G no 

Through  the  Vail.  M.  H.  D no 

Telephone  112 

Goodnight  and  Goodbye 113 

Mrs.  Spencer  Trask.  K.  N.  T 114 

In  the  Tower  at  Yaddo 1 14 

New  Old  Friends 115 

Felicissimo  Natale.  Christmas  word  to  my  children  in 

Italy 116 

An  Offering  in  Gold.  For  Cathedral  Endowment  Fund 

from  the  Sisters  of  the  Holy  Child 117 

The  Golden  Wedding  at  Edgewater.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  G. 

Pomeroy  Keese  1 18 

Daniel  Webster  119 

Amasa  J.  Parker  120 

Gladstone 121 

To  Dr.  Furness.  After  hearing  him  read  Henry  V.  and 

Julius  Caesar  .^ 122 

Mr.  Story's  Monument  to  His  Wife 123 

Victoria  124 

Greeting  to  the  Dove 126 

The  First  Midsummer  Tree 129 

The  Midsummer  Tree,  A.  D.  1891.  A  midsummer  day's 

dream  131 

The  Midsummer  Tree,  A.  D.  1895 135 

Terra  Incognita,  At  North  East  Harbour 141 


NUGAE   ALBANIENSES 

The  Weather  on  Easter  Day  "  Will  be  fine  and  clear." . .  145 

Amphibious    146 

Bill  of  Sale 148 

A  Lobster   Salad 150 

Muffins   152 

Crullers 154 


s 


Salutatoria 

A.  D.  1851-1901. 

TRANGER,  in  whose  attentive  mind, 
-  Our  rhymes,  nor  home  nor  hearthstone  find, 

Bethink  thee,  many  a  minstrel  waits 
In  silence,  at  the  jewelled  gates 
That  open  on  the  Land  of  Song; 
Till  some  chance  wanderer  pass  along 
Upon  whose  ears,  one  gentle  tone 
Recalls  a  strain  of  music  gone. 
Listening,  he  opes  the  massive  gates, 
Gives  entrance  to  the  bard  that  waits, 
And  these  two  souls  together  stray 
Along  their  wild  and  wilful  way 
Heart  joined  to  heart,  and  hand  in  hand, 
Through  all  that  wondrous,  witching  land. 

O  heart  that  owns  one  feeling  moved, 
One  strain  recalled,  that  thou  hast  loved, 
One  quickened  pulse,  one  starting  tear, 
'Tis  thine  to  wander  with  us  here. 

O  heart,  that  claims  no  kindred  lot 
In  all  our  rhymes;  rebuke  them  not; 
We  sing  to  no  reluctant  ear, 
No  eye,  need  glance  unwilling,  here. 

7 


Christmas 

BETHLEHEM  EPHRATAH 

WE  heard  of  it  at  Ephratah ; 
We  found  it  in  the  wood, 
Of  the  shameful  manger  cradle, 
Which  in  the  stable  stood; 
Where  ox  and  ass  their  Master  knew, 

And  gave  their  crib  to  Him, 
Whom  shepherds  learned  to  own  as  Lord, 
From  choir  of  cherubim. 

We  heard  it  in  the  prophecy, 

Of  Rachel's  travail  sore, 
When  just  outside  of  Ephratah, 

Her  youngest  child  she  bore. 
Benoni,  whom  his  mother 

Her  "  Son  of  Sorrow  "  styled, 
Is  Benjamin  "  the  Son  of  God's 

Right  hand,"  in  Mary's   Child. 

We  heard  it  in  the  meaning 

Of  both  thy  names  so  rare ; 
Of  Ephratah,  "  the  fruitful,  " 

Where  the  Virgin  pure  did  bear 
The  vine's  true  fruit;  and  Bethlehem, 

"  The  House  of  Living  Bread,  " 
Which,  whosoever  eateth, 

Shall  live,  though  he  were  dead. 

O  Bethlehem,  O  Ephratah ! 

To-day  came  forth  from  thee, 
The  King  whose  first  forth-coming 

Was  in  eternity !     Amen. 
8 


Christmas 

DECEMBER 


O  MONTH  of  sweetest  cradle  song, 
That  e'er  was  sung  on  earth. 
O  month  of  strangest  child-bearing, 
When  Jesus  came  to  birth! 
Before  all  worlds  begotten, 

Yet  in  this  world  was  born, 
God's  only  Son,  Maid  Mary's  Child, 
On  the  first  Christmas  morn. 

When  angel  hosts  sing  glory, 
To  God  on  high ;  the  earth 

Must  ring  with  the  sweet  story 
Of  Jesu's  wondrous  birth. 

ii 

O  month,  whose  name  December, 
Brings  wondrous  things  to  mind ! 

O  tenth  month,  we  remember, 
*That  ancient  reckoning  shrined — 


*  In  the  "  old  style,"  March  was  the  first  month  of  the  year. 
Hence  December  got  its  name :  "  the  tenth."  And  the  old 
English  calendars  made  March  25th  New  Year's  day. 


As  each  year  had  its  inning, 

On  Christ's  announcing  day — 
The  truth  that  He,  beginning 

And  ending  is  alway : 

He  Alpha,  He  Omega, 

Began  that  day  to  give 
Unending  life,  unending  love, 

To  all  in  Him  who  live. 

in 

O  month,  whose  robe  of  white  snow 

Means  Mary,  Virgin  pure ! 
O  month  whose  trees  of  evergreen 

Mean  God's  love  true  and  sure ! 
While  mistletoe,  like  frozen  tear, 

Hangs  weeping  on  the  trees, 
And  holly  boughs  bear  berries  red 

As  blood,  from  sin  that  frees. 

We  learn  from  thee,  how  ever  green, 

The  faithful  love  must  grow 
In  hearts,  His  blood  makes  white  and  clean, 

Till  scarlet  be  as  snow. 


10 


Christmas 

A.  D.  1896. 

FLING  out,  to  greet  the  midnight  air, 
O     Cross-crowned     spires,     your     Christmas 

chimes ; 

Sing  out,  to  meet  the  morning  fair, 
O  children  choirs,  your  Christmas  rhymes. 

Ye  are  the  first  to  catch  the  strain, 

For  ye  are  nearest  to  the  sky; 
The  childlike  heart,  still  pure  from  stain, 

The  spires  that  lift  the  Cross  so  high. 

Catch  the  glad  song,  that  sings  of  "  peace  " ; 

Ring  the  refrain  of  men's  "  good  will " ; 
Earth  never  needed,  more,  its  ease, 

To  right  its  wrongs,  to  heal  its  ill. 

Sing  out  the  carols,  ring  the  chimes, 

"  The  Christ  of  God  "  was  born  to-day, 

Born  for  all  lands,  all  men,  all  times. 
And  while  ye  sing,  O  think  and  pray ! 

Not  yet,  while  hosts,  in  arms  arrayed, 

Stand  ready  for  the  shock  of  war ; 
Not  yet,  while  cruel  hands,  unstayed, 

Are  red  with  blood  in  lands  afar ; 
ii 


Not  yet,  while  want  and  sin  and  shame 
Press  close  on  plenty,  pureness,  pride ; 

Not  yet,  while  souls  know  not  His  Name, 
For  whom  the  Lord  was  born  and  died ; 

Not  yet,  on  earth,  the  "  peace  of  God  " ; 

Because,  not  yet,  in  men  "  good  will  " ; 
O  Prince  of  Peace,  stretch  out  Thy  rod, 

And  bid  men's  wayward  wills  "  be  still.  " 


12 


A  Christmas  Song 

(Written  for  the  Albany  Hospital  Bazaar.) 


c 


OME  sing  a  song  of  Christmas-tide, 

To  tell  of  what  it  brings, 
Of  blessings  scattered  far  and  wide, 
With  which  the  welkin  rings. 


First,  glory  to  our  God  on  high, 

For  this  great  gift  of  grace, 
When  He  who  rules  above  the  sky, 

First  showed  on  earth  His  face. 

Then  Peace !  the  peace  of  sins  forgiven, 

Hearts  healed  and  saved  souls, 
The  earth  redeemed,  the  opened  heaven; 

So,  loud,  the  anthem  rolls. 

And  then  good  will!  that  men  should  learn 

To  love  and  help  each  other, 
With  eager  hearts  that  long  and  yearn 

To  own  each  man  a  brother. 

To  build  not  only  homes  of  ease 

And  holy  Homes  of  Prayer, 
But  "  Hotels-Dieu,  "  God's  hostelries, 

For  suffering  men,  to  care. 

So,  God  will  own,  as  given  to  Him, 

This  Christmas  gift  we  bring; 
Our  Hospital  shall  be  the  hymn, 

Of  praise  to  Christ  we  sing. 
13 


At  the  Manger 

O  CHRISTMAS  Child, 
So  roughly  cradled  here, 
Born,  undefiled, 

Of  Maiden-Mother  dear; 
None  dreamed  Thy  true  estate, 
None  deemed  Thee  to  be  great, 
There  in  Thy  swaddling  bands, 
In  far-off  Eastern  lands, 

Save  that  wise  Mother-heart, 
To  whom  the  Angel's  word 
Revealed  Thee,  as  the  Lord 

And  Saviour,  that  Thou  art. 
We  praise  Thee,  Thee  we  bless, 
And  worship  and  confess, 
As  God  and  Lord  on  high, 
Whom  Angels,  in  the  sky, 

And  men  on  earth  adore; 
But  for  this  single  day, 
Our  lingering  hearts  will  stay 

Within  the  stable  door, 
Where,  as  a  Baby,  laid, 
Thy  humanness  has  made 
All  human  hearts  Thine  own : 
There,  where  all  helpless  shown, 
Thou  madest  manger,  Throne; 
14 


Blessing  all  cradles  upon  earth, 
Blessing  each  child  of  human  birth, 
Giving  new  meaning  to  the  mirth 
Of  motherhood,  and  so, 
Filling  all  hearts,  both  high  and  low, 
With  a  fresh  sense  of  childhood's  grace 
Reflected  from  Thine  infant  face. 


T 


Merry  Christmas 

A.  D.  1900 

HIS  is  the  word  of  Christmas  mirth, 
"  Look  to  me,  and  be  ye  saved  " : 

Me,  God's  Son,  and  Son  of  David, 
"  All  the  ends  of  the  whole  earth.  " 


It  must  be  "  Merry  Christmas  " !  many  a  sorrow 

Lies  o'er  the  world,  and  darkens  hearths  and  homes, 
But  it  was  midnight,  breaking  to  the  morrow, 

When  the  Peace  Angel  sang  "  The  Saviour  comes.  " 
His  is  "  the  peace  that  passeth  understanding,  " 

"  Not  as  the  world  gives,  "  giveth  He  His  peace ; 
Overwhelming  waves  are  stilled  at  His  commanding, 

And  wildest  winds,  at  His  calm  bidding,  cease. 
Them  that  are  glad,  His  coming  maketh  gladder, 

For  happy  childhood,  lights  the  Christmas  tree, 
To  childless  homes,  where  empty  hearts  are  sadder 

For  "  the  still  voice, "  He  comes,  their  child  to  be ; 
Wealth  to  the  poor,  and  to  the  rich,  the  giver 

Of  a  new  grace  to  consecrated  gold ; 
To  thirsty  souls,  draughts  from  a  crystal  river, 

Bread  to  the  hungry,  youngness  to  the  old. 

How  shall  we  welcome  Him?    Once  in  a  stable 

Men  housed  Him,  no  room  for  Him  in  the  inn; 
All  unwilling,  all  unable 

16 


To  receive  Him,  to  believe  Him, 

Him,  who  came  to  save  His  people  from  their  sin, 
He  was  cradled  in  a  manger, 
Outcast  to  His  own,  and  stranger : 

But  the  ox  his  Master  knew, 
And  his  owner's  crib,  the  ass, 

And  the  angel  earthward  flew 
To  the  shepherds,  in  the  fields  of  wintry  grass. 

Now  we  know  that  angel's  story, 

Ages-old,  yet  ever  new, 
Which  to  God  on  high  gave  glory, 

And  to  men,  peace  deep  and  true; 
We  must  make  room  to  receive  Him 

In  our  hearts'  most  holy  place; 
We  must  own  Him  and  believe  Him 

As  the  Saviour  of  our  race, 
And  speed  on  the  glorious  message 

To  the  world's  remotest  end, 
To  be  preacher,  to  be  presage, 

Of  the  grace  that  He  will  send. 


Candlemas 

PURIFICATION  B,  V.  M. 

THIS  is  the   Feast  of  Candlemas;   for   so  they 
named  the  day 
A  thousand  years  ago  and  more,  when  Saxon 

kings  held  sway, 
And  Saxon  monks,  like  Alcuin,  kept  fresh  the  Christian 

lore, 

They  learned  before  Augustine's  feet  trod  England's 
blessed  shore. 

And  thus  they  kept  the  festival;  with  tapers  in  each 

hand, 
Alight,  and  borne  aloft,  where  priests  before  the  Altar 

stand, 
And  in  the  long  processions,  through  market  place  and 

street, 
As,  two  by  two,  they  went  their  way,  with  "  due  "  and 

reverent  "  feet.  " 

And  Bernard,  Saint  of  Cluny,  eight  hundred  years  ago, 
Tells  us  why  Christians,  in  his  time,  the  festival  kept  so : 
First,  to  show  forth  the  Master's  words,  that  with  lives 

clean  and  bright 
We  should  let  shine,  before  all  men,  Faith's  pure  and 

holy  light ; 

18 


And  then  to  tell  how  virgins  wise  (and  Mary  chief  of 

all) 
Are  ready,  with  lamps  trimmed  and  oil,  to  hear  the 

Saviour's  call; 
And  glad,  go  forth  to  meet  Him,  their  souls  refreshed 

with  grace, 
Their  hearts  aglow  and  eager  to  see  the  Bridegroom's 

face. 

The  great  processions  now  no  more  through  town  and 

country  go, 

No  more  the  myriad  tapers  before  the  Altars  glow ; 
But  still  the  Master  calls  us,  with  holy  lives  and  pure, 
To  walk  as  His  light-bearers,  in  faith  and  love  secure. 

And  still  the  lesson  lies  to  learn,  for  all  who  would  be 
wise, 

To  seek  the  plenteous  stores  of  grace,  His  faithful  love 
supplies, 

And  make  our  lives,  like  lamps  well  trimmed,  burn  al- 
ways bright  and  clear, 

Lived,  as  He  lived  His  holy,  human  life,  among  us  here. 


Easter  Even 


L 


IKE  the  hiding  of  the  leaven, 

In  the  measures  of  the  meal, 
Lay  Our  Lord,  on  Easter  Even 
Under  watch  and  stone  and  seal. 


Sleeping,  but  His  "  heart  was  waking," 

Resting  after  weary  pain; 
While  in  Paradise  was  breaking, 

Light  which  soon  the  earth  should  gain. 

Soon  the  night  will  break  to  morning, 

Soon  the  Sun  of  Life  arise, 
Death's  brief  triumph  calmly  scorning, 

Living;  nevermore  He  dies. 


20 


Easter 

That  He  might  be  Lord  of  the  dead  and  of  the  living. 

v  — Romans  xiv,  9, 

LORD  of  the  dead,  who  from  the  Tree 
Didst  reign  in  wondrous  majesty, 
Whom  earth  and  sky  their  sovereign  owned, 
Thorn-crowned  upon  Thy  cross  enthroned; 
Thou  only  "  free  among  the  dead," 
Lead  on ;  we  follow,  safely  led ; 
As  Joseph,  Israel's  hosts  before, 
So  Jesus  leads  death's  deep  sea  o'er. 

Lord  of  the  living!    Paradise 
Still  glows  in  sweet  and  strange  surprise ; 
Since  Thou  proclaimedst  liberty 
To  saints  that  waited  long  for  Thee. 
The  King  in  all  His  beauty  now 
They  patient  see,  and  bending  low 
Beneath  the  altar,  cry  "  how  long  " 
Ere  we  Thy  royal  courts  may  throng? 

Lord  of  the  living!    Higher  far 
The  glories  of  Thy  conquest  are ; 
"  God  of  the  living,  "  not  "  the  dead,  " 
Since  all  men  live  in  Thee,  their  Head. 
God-Man,  enthroned  above  the  skies, 
One  day  Thy  buried  saints  shall  rise, 
In  Thy  glad  service  to  abide, 
And  with  Thy  likeness  satisfied. 

21 


Easter 

REJOICE,  be  glad  for  Easter; 
For  this  is  what  it  tells, 
In  the  music  of  its  carols, 
In  the  ringing  of  its  bells, 
In- the  springing  of  its  flowers, 

In  the  singing  of  each  bird, 
In  its  lengthening,  brightening  hours, 
In  the  earth,  with  new  life  stirred: 

"  Life  has  conquered,  Death's  but  seeming 
Rouse  ye  sleepers  from  your  dreaming 
Lift  your  voices,  praises  giving 
'Mong  the  dead  seek  not  the  living !  " 

Beneath  the  frozen  river's  crust 

The  hidden  waters  flow; 
And,  come  to  sight  again,  they  must, 

When  soft  the  Spring  winds  blow. 
Behind  each  polished  wall  of  shell, 

There  is  a  life  that  waits 
The  breaking  of  the  prison  cell, 

The  opening  of  the  gates. 
Within  the  hard  enfolding 

Of  bud  and  seed  and  grain, 
The  life  that  they  are  holding, 

Must  soon  burst  forth  again. 

22 


And  this  is  but  the  presage 

Of  God's  revealed  truth, 
In  the  glad  Easter  message, 

Of  man's  immortal  youth. 
When  the  gray  dawn  grew  golden 

Above  that  garden  grave, 
In  which  men  thought  Him  holden 

Who  came  from  death  to  save ; 
While  soldiers  watched  and  women  wept, 
The  waking  came  to  Him  who  slept. 
The  spices,  for  embalming  meant, 
Became  Spring's  sweet  and  fragrant  scent, 
Borne  far  and  wide  on  wings  of  wind, 
Of  endless  life  for  all  mankind. 

The  seal  of  death  is  broken, 

The  stone  is  rolled  away, 
The  words,  by  angels  spoken, 

Are  true  of  all  to-day, 
Since  Jesus  Christ  has  risen, 

Of  all  mankind  the  Head, 
The  grave  no  more  is  prison, 

"  The  earth  casts  out  her  dead  ". 


Easter 

ELL  the  story  of  the  Risen, 
Joy  of  sorrow ;  peace  from  pain ; 
How  the  Master  broke  from  prison', 
Nevermore  to  die  again. 


T 


Wakened  is  the  Heavenly  Sleeper, 
Earth  casts  out  her  mighty  dead; 

Comforted  each  earthly  weeper, 
Lifted  every  mourner's  head. 

Tell  the  story  of  the  Living; 

Life  from  death;  from  night,  the  day; 
This  the  manner  of  God's  giving; 

So  He  deals  with  men,  alway. 

Tell  the  story  of  Passover, 

Dry-shod  through  the  deep,  dark  sea, 
Christ,  the  Lord  of  all  and  Lover, 

Leads  His  hosts  to  victory. 

Tell  the  story  of  the  Easter; 

Raise  your  voices  high  and  sing, 
Weeper,  sleeper,  faster,  feaster, 

Sursum  Corda,  Christ  is  King. 

Wakened  is  the  Heavenly  Sleeper, 
Earth  casts  out  her  mighty  dead; 

Comforted  each  earthly  weeper, 
Lifted  every  mourner's  head. 
24 


Thanksgiving 

ONCE  more  to  thee,  O  God,  we  raise 
Our  grateful  song  of  joy  and  praise, 
For  well  stored  barn  and  bursting  bin, 
For  bounteous  harvests  gathered  in, 
For  seasons  making  fruitful  soil, 
For  blessing  on  the  labourers'  toil, 
For  harvest-home  whose  plenty  cheers 
The  sower,  in  the  springtime  tears. 
We  praise  and  bless  Thee,  gracious  Lord, 
For  all  fulfilment  of  Thy  word, 
"  Seedtime  and  harvest  shall  not  fail, 
Summer  nor  winter."     Thee  we  hail, 
Giver  of  all,  whose  blessing  makes 
The  earth,  so  fruitful  for  our  sakes. 

And  while  with  praise  to  Thee  we  turn, 
The  lesson  from  Thy  works  we  learn; 
Since  earth  and  sky  and  floods  and  sea 
And  sun  and  rain  and  wind,  to  Thee, 
Chant  always  Benedicite: 
And  all  the  green  things  of  the  earth, 
And  beasts  and  birds,  with  sounds  of  mirth, 
Do  praise  and  bless  Thee  as  their  Lord. 
Not  service  of  the  lip  and  word, 
25 


Thou  askest.    Since  by  Thee  they  live, 
That  life,  to  Thee  as  Thine,  they  give. 
So  make  Thou  our  thanksgiving  true, 
To  render  back  to  Thee  Thy  due ; 
And  liken  us,  in  this,  to  Thee, 
That,  of  Thy  gifts,  we  givers  be. 


26 


All  Saints'  Day 


O  HAPPY   dead   who,   passed   to  rest, 
Know  neither  tears  nor  sighing, 
Who,  lying  on  your  Saviour's  breast, 
Have  found  the  bliss  of  dying: 
Tears  wiped  away  and  toil  no  more, 
Ye  rest,  ye  rest,  forever. 

Across  your  life  by  pain  untorn, 

Untouched  by  earthly  passion, 
There  break  the  streaks  of  coming  morn, 

In  strange  yet  tranquil  fashion : 
O  happy  dead,  eternal  day, 
When  night's  dark  shades  have  passed  away, 
Is  yours,  is  yours,  forever. 

Meanwhile  in  Jesu's  arms  we  leave 

Your  blessed  souls  reclining, 
And  though  we  stricken  mourners  grieve, 

We  grieve  without  repining, 
Dear  Lord,  we  give  our  dead  to  Thee, 
Bring  us  at  last  where  we  would  be, 
With  Thee,  with  Thee,  forever. 

Almighty  God,  dear  One  in  Three, 

Thou  Lord  of  dead  and  living, 
For  these  gone  hence,  we  pray  to  Thee 

Compassionate,  forgiving : 
Grant  them  O  Lord,  eternal  rest, 
Forever  and  forever. 

27 


Marriage  Hymn 


O  GRACIOUS  God  and  Lord, 
Most  Holy  Three  in  One, 
By  Thine  own  pure  and  primal  Word, 
The  Marriage  grace  begun: 
Still  bless  Thy  Holy  Rite, 

Still  speak  Thy  powerful  Word, 
Thy  servants'  lives,  in  one,  unite, 
Creator,  God  and  Lord. 

O  God  our  Father,  Lord, 

'Tis  Thine,  this  knot  to  tie, 
'Tis  Thine,  this  ring  to  bless ;  Thy  Word 

Makes  perfect  unity: 
Thou  makest  Man  and  Wife 

One  in  Thy  love,  and  "  heirs 
Together  of  that  grace  of  Life,  " 

This  Mystery  declares. 

O  gracious  Saviour,  Lord, 

Whose  Name  we  now  confess, 
The  Marriage  Rite,  at  Cana's  board, 

Thou  didst  vouchsafe  to  bless : 
The  Church,  Thy  Holy  Bride, 

Her  children  blesses  here, 
Keep  them  forever  at  Thy  side, 

Make  each  to  each,  most  dear. 
28 


O  God  the  Holy  Ghost, 

Life-giver  from  above, 
As  Thou  didst  come  on  Pentecost, 

Come  now,  with  gifts  of  love; 
Love,  casting  out  all  fear, 

Love,  knitting  hearts  in  one, 
Love,  gladdening  smile  and  drying  tear, 

Till  Life  and  Love  are  won. 


Marriage  Hymn 

E.  G.  D.  G.,  April  28,  A.  D.  1881 

TO  Thee,  O  Father  throned  on  high, 
Our  marriage  hymn,  we  duly  sing; 
Knit  Thou  the  sacred  bond  we  tie, 
And  do  Thou  bless  the  wedding  ring. 
Thy  love,  at  first,  in  Paradise, 

It  was  that  made  one  Flesh  of  twain ; 
Work  Thou,  while  here  our  prayers  arise, 
That  sacred  mystery,  again. 

To  Thee,  O  Jesu,  throned  beside 

Thy  Father's  right  hand,  here  we  cry ; 
True  Bridegroom  of  Thy  spotless  Bride, 

With  all  Thy  human  love,  draw  nigh. 
Our  human  nature,  Thy  Divine 

Has  wedded,  and  in  Thee,  dear  Lord, 
As  Cana's  water  turned  to  wine, 

Its  lost  godlikeness  is  restored. 

O  Holy  Ghost  the  Paraclete, 

Thee  too  we  worship,  God  and  Lord, 
And  honour  Thee,  with  praises  meet, 

One  with  the  Father  and  the  Word. 
Lord  and  Life-giver,  hear  our  prayer, 

Come,  sanctify  and  bless  and  guide, 
Strengthen,  and  shelter  'neath  Thy  care, 

The  life  of  Bridegroom  and  of  Bride. 
30 


O  God  Triune,  Whom  Heaven's  host 

Adores,  with  sweet  and  ceaseless  song; 
O  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost, 

To  whom  all  worship  doth  belong ; 
Hear,  in  these  echoes  faint  and  dim, 

Of  chant  and  prayer  and  holy  psalm, 
Their  songs,  the  heavenly  Feast  who  hymn, 

The  Marriage  Supper  of  the  Lamb. 


For  Those  at  Sea 

HELD  in  the  hollow  of  Thy  Hand, 
Whose  might  is  merciful  to  save, 
Thy  mighty  Ocean's  mountain  wave 
But  bridges  space  from  land  to  land. 

'Twas  Thy  perpetual  decree, 
That  set  the  barrier  of  the  sand, 
Where  lapping  waves  caress  Thy  Hand, 
And  own  allegiance  thus  to  Thee ; 
O  Father,  hear  our  earnest  prayer 
That  gives  our  darlings  to  Thy  care. 

O  Master,  sleeping  on  the  wave 
That  rose  in  wrath  and  threatening  harm, 
Then  shrank  to  sleep  beneath  Thy  charm, 
When  waked  the  power  that  loves  to  save ; 

O  Master  walking  on  the  sea 
And  keeping  hearts  that  faint,  from  fear, 
Outreaching  hand  to  draw  them  near, 
To  walk  the  waters  safe  with  Thee ; 
O  Jesus  hear  our  earnest  prayer, 
That  trusts  our  darlings  to  Thy  care. 

O  Holy  Ghost,  Whose  Breath  of  Life 
Calmed  that  confused,  chaotic  deep, 
From  which  creation  came,  to  sleep 
32 


And  wake,  with  nature's  beauty  rife; 

O  Spirit,  wedded  to  the  wave 
Which  gives,  to  mortals  on  the  earth, 
The  grace  of  an  immortal  birth 
To  life,  that  lasts  beyond  the  grave ; 
Lord  and  Life-giver  hear  our  prayer, 

That  puts  our  darlings  in  Thy  care. 


33 


A  Hospital  Hymn 

(For  the  little  children  in  the  Child's  Hospital.) 


J 


ESUS,  Lord,  enthroned  high, 

Once,  on  earth,  a  little  child, 
Hear  Thy  little  children's  cry, 
Sinful,  to  the  Undefiled. 


Such  as  we  are,  mothers  brought, 
In  their  arms,  for  Thee  to  bless ; 

Such  as  we  are,  came  and  sought 
At  Thy  hands,  Thy  love's  caress. 

Such  as  we  are,  not  beguiled 
Yet,  by  cares  and  joys  of  earth, 

Thou  didst  set—"  a  little  child  "— 

'Mongst  those  men  of  wondrous  worth. 

And  "  of  such  ",  Thou  saidst— the  King! 

"Is  my  heavenly  kingdom  ",  bright ; 
Pure  from  evil  thought  or  thing, 

Guileless  in  Thy  holy  sight. 

Such  as  we  are,  sick  and  lame, 

Blind  and  poor  and  racked  with  pain, 

To  Thy  touch,  in  suffering  came, 
And  went,  healed  and  well  again. 
34 


Holy  Jesus,  Healer,  Friend, 

Tender  Lover  of  us  all, 
Of  Thy  grace,  we  pray  Thee  send 

To  Thy  children  when  they  call. 

Make  us  patient  in  our  pain ; 

Make  us,  by  it,  live  to  Thee; 
Heal  our  souls  of  sin's  sad  stain, 

From  our  sickness  set  us  free. 

Place  us,  each  one,  Lord,  just  where, 
We,  Thy  servants  true,  may  be, 

Thy  great  Will,  to  do  or  bear, 
As  it  seemeth  best  to  Thee. 

Bless  the  hands  that  soothe  our  cares, 
Ministering,  in  us,  to  Thee; 

Let  us  see  Thy  face  in  their's, 
Whom,  at  last,  we  hope  to  see. 

And,  when  suffering  days  are  past, 
And  earth's  service  all  is  done, 

Bring  us,  Saviour,  at  the  last 

With  the  saved  about  Thy  Throne. 


35 


Hymn 


(Written  for  the  Bicentenary  of  the  City  of  Albany.) 


A 


NCIENT  of  days,  Who  sittest,  throned  in  glory ; 
To  Thee  all  knees  are  bent,  all  voices  pray ; 
Thy  love  has  blest  the  wide  world's  wondrous 
story, 
With  light  and  life  since  Eden's  dawning  day. 


O  Holy  Father,  Who  hast  led  Thy  children 
In  all  the  ages,  with  the  Fire  and  Cloud, 

Through   seas,   dry-shod;  through   weary  wastes  be- 
wildering ; 
To  Thee,  in  reverent  love,  our  hearts  are  bowed. 

O  Holy  Jesus,  Prince  of  Peace  and  Saviour, 
To  Thee  we  owe  the  peace  that  still  prevails, 

Stilling  the  rude  wills  of  men's  wild  behaviour, 
And  calming  passion's  fierce  and  stormy  gales. 

O  Holy  Ghost,  the  Lord  and  the  Life-giver, 

Thine  is  the  quickening  power  that  gives  increase; 

From  Thee  have  flowed,  as  from  a  pleasant  river, 
Our  plenty,  wealth,  prosperity,  and  peace. 

O  Triune  God,  with  heart  and  voice  adoring, 

Praise  we  the  goodness  that  doth  crown  our  days ; 

Pray  we,  that  Thou  wilt  hear  us,  still  imploring 
Thy  love  and  favour,  kept  to  us  always. 
36 


Hymn 

(Sung  at  the  two  hundredth  anniversary  of  the  S.  P.  G.  in 
London,  June  16,  1900.) 

O  RISEN  and  Ascended  Lord, 
Whose  vision  widened,  as  from  sight 
The  Cloud  received    Thee,    through    which 

poured 

Thy  parting  blessing ;   give  us  Light, 
To  see  what  filled  Thine  eyes  and  heart 
And  in  Thy  work  to  know  our  part. 

"Jerusalem,  Judaea,  then 

Samaria"  and  earth's  outmost  parts! 
No  little  limit  to  Thy  ken, 

No  narrowing  nearness,  to  our  hearts, 
But  "  every  creature, "  nations  all, 
Bid  us  to  bring  within  Thy  call. 

Send  down  Thy  Holy  Ghost  in  fire 

To  kindle,  quicken,  warm  our  wills, 
Our  tongues  to  loose,  our  souls  inspire, 
Till  all  the  earth  Thy  knowledge  fills, 
And  round  the  world  from  zone  to  zone 
Thy  Name,  Thy  saving  grace  are  known. 
37 


Claim  the  fulfilment  of  the  word 

Thy  Father  spoke,  "  Desire  of  me 
And  for  Thine  heritage,  as  Lord, 
The  nations  I  will  give  to  Thee, 

The  utmost  earth  Thou  shalt  possess,  " 
And  all  mankind  with  mercy  bless. 

So,  through  Thy  pleading,  make  our  prayer 
Prevail  with  power,  where  from  on  high 
Thou  holdest  all  within  Thy  Care; 

While,  from  the  earth  and  through  the  sky 
Angels  and  men,  one  mighty  host, 
Praise  Father,  Son  and  Holy  Ghost. 

Amen. 


O  Deus  Metis  Amo  Te 

(St.  Francis  Xavier.) 


M 


Y  God,  I  give  my  love  to  Thee 
Not  that  Thou  mayest,  so,  save  me, 
Nor  because  those  who  love  not  Thee 
Must  burn  in  fire  eternally. 
Thou,  Thou,  my  Jesus,  all  of  me, 
Embracedst  on  the  accursed  Tree, 
Didst  bear  the  nails  and  spear  for  me; 
For  me,  all  shame  and  misery. 
For  me,  innumerable  woes 
For  me,  the  bloody  sweat,  and  throes 
Of  painful  death;  these  all  for  me, 
For  me,  in  sin  and  misery. 
How  therefore  shall  I  not  love  Thee 
O  Jesu,  loving  tenderly. 


39 


PERSONAL 


My  Baby's  Face 

(In  a  photograph.) 
A.  D.  1862. 

SWEET  little  face,  so  full  of  earnest  wonder, 
Looking  from  so  far  off,  at  me,  forlorn, 
You  try  to  look,  as  though  you  did  the  thunder 
To  the  quick  lightning  flash  that  caught  your  form. 

But  there  is  mischief  in  that  frown,  sweet  baby, 
Peeping,  like  sunlight,  through  a  scowling  cloud, 

Why  don't  you  see  me  looking  at  you ; — may  be 
You'd  smile  away  that  anxious,  angry  mood. 

Dear  little  face,  in  search  of  something  loving, 
Here,  where  you  see  it  not,  it  looks  at  you. 

So,  God,  unseen,  is  loving  us ;  so,  moving 
Near  us,  the  loving  dead,  to  love,  are  true. 

Dear  little  baby,  older  eyes,  in  wonder 

Look,  through  blind  tears,  into  the  empty  night, 

Doubtful  and  desolate,  sad,  as  far  asunder 

From  those,  they  only  cannot  look  on,  for  the  Light. 

Look  darling,  alway,  earnestly,  while  sunlight, 
Brighter  than  ours,  paints  upon  your  heart, 

In  the  dark  clouds  of  sorrow,  Jesu's  image, 
A  cross,  a  crown,  that  cannot  be  apart. 
43 


"I  Shall  Kiss  Both  Your  Eyes, 
Papa" 

A.  D.  1863,  E.  G.  D. 

KISS  my  two  eyes,  my  precious  child, 
And  wake  me  so,  to  love  and  prayer, 
Prayer,  that  shall  keep  thee  undefiled, 
And  love,  to  fold  thee  in  its  care. 

Break  so,  Sleep's  quiet  heavy  seal, 

With  the  sweet  moisture  of  your  kiss, 
Sweet  darling,  little  can  you  feel, 

The  earnest  lesson  of  all  this. 

The  morning  dew-drops  kiss  the  earth, 

And  break  its  dark,  inactive  dream; 
And  Winter  wakes  from  death  and  dearth, 

Kissed  by  the  Spring-sun's  gracious  beam. 

O  sealed  eyes,  O  sleeping  heart, 

No  kiss  of  love,  than  death  more  strong, 

Can  stir  that  pulse,  that  light  can  start; 
Thou  sleepest  well,  and  sleepest  long. 

Yet  Love  shall  wake  thee ;  and  a  Kiss, 

The  Kiss  of  Life's  eternal  morn, 
Of  the  great  Easter-Spring  of  bliss ; 

The  Love,  of  Jesus,  Virgin  Born. 
44 


Kiss  my  two  eyes,  my  blessed  child, 
And  wake  me  so,  to  love  and  prayer; 

Prayer,  that  shall  keep  thee  undefiled, 
And  Love,  to  fold  thee  in  its  care. 

Unsleeping  Love,  unceasing  prayer, 
Reach  down,  about  thee,  darling  child, 

From  him,  who  sleeps  to  us,  but,  there, 
Finds  Life  and  Death  quite  reconciled. 


45 


Margaret  Harrison  Doane 


M 


(Baptized  by  my  Father,  who  died  in  May,  A.  D.,  1859.) 
"The  Angels'  Day,"  A.  D.,  1859 

Y  baby,  just  a  year  ago, 

The  gracious  stream  was  poured, 
That  floweth  from  the  pierced  side. 
Of  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord; 
To  wash  thy  child-soul  clean  and  white 

From  every  stain  of  earth, 
And  bear  thee,  of  the  Spouse  of  Christ, 
God's  child  in  holy  birth. 

And  of  that  countless  company, 

That  just  are  not  divine, 
One  angel  from  before  God's  Throne 

Is  marked,  and  known  as  thine. 
And  since  that  day,  he  stands  for  thee 

Before  thy  Father's  Face, 
Or  on  some  ministry  of  love 

To  earth  he  wings  his  race. 

And  he,  who  called  that  angel  down, 

And  opened  Heaven's  door, 
And  poured  the  sacred,  saving  stream, 

And  blessed  thee,  o'er  and  o'er  ; 
46 


Within  that  door  has  entered  now, 

That  blessing  hath  attained, 
With  Heaven's  innumerable  host, 

And  saints,  in  robes  unstained. 

And  thou  art  left,  the  closest  link — 

In  pure,  unsinning  heart, 
In  guileless  thoughts,  and  winning  ways 

Of  Paradise,  a  part — 
To  bind  us,  to  his  blessedness, 

And  help  us  enter  in, 
With  them,  and  him,  and  all  the  just, 

In  Christ's  Blood,  washed  from  sin. 

His  constant  prayers ;  that  angel  guard ; 

About  thy  path,  be,  still ; 
To  shield  thee,  from  all  hurt  or  harm, 

And  mould  thee  to  God's  will ! 
And,  to  that  countless  company, 

My  darling,  may  we  come, 
To  share,  what  now  we  lose  from  earth, 

The  brightness  of  his  home. 


47 


My  Father's  53d  Birthday 

A  YEAR  of  stir,  and  storm  and  strife 
Has  mixed  the  snows  of  time, 
With  the  sharp  hail  of  wrinkling  care, 
Upon  thy  brow  sublime. 

But  yet  the  firm,  undaunted  step. 

The  tread  of  conscious  truth, 
The  eye  undimmed,  the  fearless  heart, 

Are  thine,  as  in  thy  youth. 

And  as  the  tree,  that  feels  the  gale 

The  fiercest  and  the  first, 
Glistens  the  soonest,  in  the  sun 

Through  scattered  storm-clouds  burst. 

So,  when  the  false  world's  strife  is  done 

And  time  has  passed  away 
God's  brightest  beams  of  glorious  light 

Around  thy  head  shall  play. 


In  My  Father's  Memoir 

IN  PACE 

NO  study  now,  no  wearying  employment, 
No  creed,  confession,  Litany,  to  raise, 
But  all  fulfilled,  in  the  complete  enjoyment, 
Of  knowledge,  adoration,  love,  and  praise. 

Devotion  now,  a  pleasure,  not  a  duty, 

No  anxious  hopes,  no  overmastering  fears, 

But  the  near  vision  of  the  King  in  beauty, 
On  eyes,  whose  seeing  is  not  dimmed  with  tears. 

This  joy  we  know  not,  to  more  glory  leadeth 
There,  hope,  assured,  in  perfect  patience  waits, 

And  scarcely  feels  the  only  thing  it  needeth, 

That  God  should  open,  Heaven's  jewelled  gates. 

The  white  robed  souls,  the  palms,  palm  branches  bear- 
ing, 

The  tongues,  attuned  to  sing  the  Angel's  song, 
Reach  out  for  crowns,  which  seem  forever  nearing, 

And  only  cry,  "  how  long,"  O  Lord,  "  how  long." 

O  home  of  peace,  to  our  homes,  drawing  nearer, 

As  one  by  one,  our  darlings  enter  in, 
How  art  thou,  fairer,  surer,  better,  dearer, 

Than  these  abodes  of  sorrow  and  of  sin. 

Thy  pastures  green,  thy  river  of  God's  pleasures, 
Bid  us, — stray  sheep,  and  tired  lambs — to  come, 

Restored  to  all  our  human  hopes  and  treasures, 
And  finding,  first,  our  one  continuing  home. 
49 


Riverside* 

October,  A.  D.,  1859. 

HE  quiet  sorrow  of  the  trees 
Lies,  bleeding,  on  the  earth; 
And  silence  falls,  in  folds  of  crape, 
About  my  Father's  hearth. 


T 


Creeps  up,  the  still  September  mist, 
And  veils  the  waking  morn ; 

And  tears  shall  dim,  with  webs  of  haze, 
The  morrow,  e'er  'tis  born. 

The  river  runs  in  ripples  down, 

And  merges  in  the  sea; 
My  life,  in  ebb  and  flow  of  tears 

Rolls  down  and  follows  thee. 

The  empty  house  is  silent  all, 
The  home  he  held  so  dear; 

Unlit  the  hearth,  untrod  the  hall, 
And  gone,  its  ancient  cheer. 

A  heavenly  glory  gilds  the  leaves ; 

Death  is  their  brightest  day ; 
O  God,  give  glory  so,  to  us 

From  out  this  dread  decay. 


*My  Father's  home  in  Burlington,  N.  J.,  which  be- 
came the  residence  of  his  successor  in  the  Episcopate. 

50 


Behind  the  still,  September  mist 

Climbs  up  the  glorious  sun; 
When  all  Thy  love,  our  tears,  hath  kissed, 

Thy  glory,  they  have  won. 

Back  rolls  the  tide ;  the  ceaseless  springs 

Return  what  Ocean  takes, 
Thy  ceaseless  mercy  heals  and  fills 

The  heart,  that  sorrow  breaks. 

For  us,  this  empty  house,  so  drear, 

For  him,  the  peopled  home ; 
"  No  lasting  city,  "  have  we  here, 

But  seek,  "  the  one  to  come  " ; 

That  one,  whose  founding  is  secure ; 

Its  builder,  God;  its  shrine, 
The  place  where  angels  praise,  and  saints; 

My  Father's  home  and  mine. 


My  Mother 

(Who  died  in  Florence.) 

THE  Tuscan  shore  is  far  away, 
And  far  away,  the  Tuscan  sea, 
Whose  laughing  waves,  in  sunshine  play, 
Their  sweet  and  soothing  melody ; 
And  yet,  I  wander  there  to-day 
And  hear  their  rippling  lullaby. 

It  lulls  the  Tuscan  children's  sleep, 
It  calms  the  wear  of  working  men, 

And  as  I  wander  there,  and  weep, 
I  wonder  not,  for  all  my  pain, 

That  it  can  soothe,  to  sleep,  so  deep, 
One,  who  will  never  wake  again. 

Was  there  no  rest  thy  weary  heart, 

Could  find,  but  that  which  sleeps,  so  sound, 
So  still,  so  dreamless,  like  a  part 

Of  the  unmoved  and  silent  ground? 
And  must  thou  be,  as  now  thou  art, 

Before  that  longed-for  rest  was  found  ? 

But  O,  my  Mother,  three  long  years 

Have  gone  away,  since  your  last  kiss; 
And,  through  the  rain  of  parting  tears, 
52 


We  never  dreamed  of  grief  like  this, 
Nor  ever  thought,  mid  parting  fears, 
In  their  return,  thy  face  to  miss. 

O  Mother,  could  no  light  come  down, 
Upon  thy  darkened  soul ;  till  ours 

Withered  beneath  this  sorrow's  frown, 
And  died  down;  as  the  Autumn  flowers, 

Like  tears,  upon  the  earth  are  strewn 
And  will  not  bloom,  for  all  the  showers  ? 

O  Mother,  could  there  be  no  peace 

To  soothe  thy  widowed  heart,  till  ours 

Were  veiled  in  tears,  that  will  not  cease 
To  fall,  in  grief's  incessant  showers? 

Tis  our  distress ;  'tis  thy  release : 
On  graves,  are  grown,  our  life's  best  flowers. 

The  Tuscan  earth  is  full  of  bloom, 
And  sweetest  flowers,  incessant,  spring 

The  year  round,  from  her  teeming  womb. 
But  now  it  holds  a  fairer  thing, 

A  flower,  in  what  we  call  a  tomb, 
That  waits  for  God's  awakening. 

The  Tuscan  flowers  are  fair  to  see. 

Dear  Mother,  did  they  glad  thine  eyes  ? 
Then,  what  a  welcome  sight,  to  thee 

The  fadeless  flowers  of  Paradise, 
Blooming,  beyond  life's  troubled  sea, 

That  breaks  in  peace,  against  God's  skies. 
53 


There,  Mother,  will  we  look  for  thee, 
Far  off,  yet  nearer,  somehow,  there, 

To  me;  for  there  is  no  more  sea 
To  part  us;  and  there  is  no  fear, 

Of  further  parting:  rather  we 
Draw  nearer  to  thee,  year  by  year. 

Back  to  thy  bosom,  Mother  earth, 
Thy  weary  child,  has  turned  for  rest. 

But  we,  her  orphans,  in  our  dearth 
Can  find  no  loving  Mother's  breast, 

Till,  from  the  womb  of  Life's  full  birth, 
We  come,  of  all  Life's  joys,  possessed. 

O  God,  reveal  Thy  Father's  love 
To  our  poor  hearts,  that  long  for  his : 

O  Holy  Church,  a  Mother  prove 
To  us,  a  Mother's  love,  who  miss : 

Till  Heaven  be  home ;  and  we,  above 

Shall  share,  their  changeless,  endless  bliss. 


54 


"The  Pastor  Croswell 

OH  blessed  title,  thou  hast  won ; 
Beyond  all  worldly  fame, 
Thou  sainted,  and  departed  one, 
To  join  to  thy  dear  name. 

Pastor  in  all  the  gentlest  care, 
In  watchful  eye  and  heart, 

In  ministries  of  praise  and  prayer, 
In  every  pastoral  art. 

Pastor,  to  feed  the  Saviour's  lambs, 
To  lead  the  wandering  home ; 

The  sick,  to  heal  with  gospel  balms, 
To  lighten  sorrow's  gloom. 

O  Thou  great  Shepherd  of  all  souls, 

Be  such  my  life,  my  aim 
That  in  Thy  Book  of  Life,  with  his, 

Thou  mayest  enroll  my  name. 


55 


M.  D.  G. 

With  a  copy  of  "  Tales  of  a  Grandfather." 

}  r  I  ^  WAS  a  lucky  little  boy,  in  the  famous  land  of 

Scott, 

(Which  they  well  might  spell  as  Scott-land, 
with  a  very  double  "  t  ") 
And  his  name  was  John  Hugh  Lockhart,  and  he'll  never 

be  forgot 

As  long  as  there  are  children  that  have  eyes  to  read 
and  see. 

And  his  grandfather,  Sir  Walter,  loved  him  more  than 

can  be  told, 
For  he  came,  like  dew  on  dryness,  like  the  rain  in 

time  of  drought, 
And  like  sunshine  into  darkness,  when  the  Poet  had 

grown  old; 

And  a  child's  sweet,  earnest  freshness,  into  life  again ' 
he  brought. 

"  Wizard, "  well  they  called   Sir  Walter,  who  could 

summon  at  his  will, 
All  the  shapes  that  ever  peopled  loch  and  plain  and 

heathy  hill ; 
But  the  witching,  magic  power,  whose  charm  never, 

never  fails, 

Was  the  childish  want  and  wonder  for    the    dear 
Grandfather's  Tales. 

56 


So  sweet  child,  in  love,  I  bring  you,  not  this  story-book 

alone, 
But  the  story  of  the  story-book,  whose  truth  all  ages 

own; 
How,  as  life  goes  on,  and  freshness  fades  from  heart 

and  hand  and  eye, 
Fades  from  meadow  and  from  moonbeam,  from  earth 

and  sea  and  sky ; 

Comes  the  sweetest,  second  fatherhood,  like  quickening 

breath  of  Spring, 
Comes     this    kind   of    second    childhood,    freshening, 

brightening  everything, 
And  repeoples  life  with  voices,  that  so  long  had  silent 

been, 
And  with  forms,  the  eye  had  strained  to  see,  that  long 

had  been  unseen. 

And  the  old  heart  leaps  up  laughing,  with  a  resurrec- 
tion joy, 

And  the  woman  grows  a  girl  again,  the  man,  once  more, 
a  boy ; 

And  the  fountain  of  perpetual  youth,  springs  real,  with 
fabled  power, 

In  the  sweet  and  close  communion  of  the  blessed  "  Chil- 
dren's hour.  " 


57 


In  Kenilworth  Camp 

Dr.  Trudeau's 

"  The  angel  of  the  Lord  encamps  about  them  that  fear  him. 
— Psalm  xxx-4. 

THE  solemn  stillness  of  the  night 
Draws  its  deep  curtains  round  the  world ; 
The  peaceful  lake ;  the  quiet  light 
Of  sentry  stars ;  the  tent  unfurled, 
Like  sheltering  wings  of  brooding  bird; 
And  only  nature's  voices  heard; 
These  are  the  scenes  all  strange  to  me, 
Familiar  now,  for  years,  to  thee. 

Here  resting  through  thy  thoughtful  care, 
I  leave  my  blessing  and  this  prayer : 
O  God,  whose  angel  watches  near 
Those  who  have  learned  Thy  name  to  fear, 
Make  good  Thy  promise,  ever  here ; 

Encamp  around  Thy  servant's  tent, 
Let  only  mercies  here  be  sent ; 
Attend  his  path ;  about  his  bed, 
Thy  sheltering  wings  be  ever  spread ; 
Let  him  and  his  forever  share 
The  comfort  of  Thy  watchful  care. 

For  men  rise  up,  and  call  him  blest, 
Who,  seeking  here  for  health  and  rest, 
Has  won  the  loved  physician's  name, 
And,  like  St.  Luke,  earned  double  fame, 
Evangelist  and  healer  he, 
Of  men,  whom  he  has  led  to  Thee. 

58 


I 


F.  Hopkinson  Smith 

(Acknowledging  a  water  colour  sketch  of  North  East  Harbour.) 

SIT  before  my  hearth  at  home, 
Its  winter  fires  are  all  ablaze : 
And  suddenly  there  greets  my  gaze 
A  scene  transformed  by  sprite  and  gnome. 

A  silver  sea  in  gray  and  pearl, 
Lies  still  and  stretches  far  away, 
To  kiss  the  passing  clouds,  that  furl 
Their  sails,  and  float  on,  soft  and  gray. 

The  rocks,  the  trees,  the  yellow  grass, 
The  islands  folding  in  the  sea, 
The  winding  path !    Some  magic  glass, 
Holds  nature  up  to  memory ; 

Till  Winter  warms.     Another  fire 
Another  hearth,  another  home, 
A  shrine  that  holds  my  heart's  desire, 
To  which  my  pilgrim  thoughts  may  roam ; 

And  dear  companionship  of  friends, 
That  charms  the  summer  days  so  fair, 
All  these  are  with  me ;  Winter  ends, 
'Tis  summer  still  and  soft  and  rare. 

O  magic  art  and  magic  hand, 
Compressing  distance,  bridging  miles, 
And  making  distant  scenes  to  stand, 
So  near,  one  counts  the  ocean's  smiles. 

O  gracious  heart,  O  gracious  hand, 
That  lavishes  so  much  on  me, 
Welcome  as  frequent  guest  on  land, 
Or  in  my  home  beside  the  sea. 
59 


J.  P.  M. 


October,  A.  D.,  1895 
"THE  STANDARD  BEARER." 

HE  holds  the  flag  up,  who,  with  brawny  hands, 
Carries  the  pole  which  lifts  it  toward  the  sky ; 
Or  he,  who,  in  the  battle  steadfast  stands, 
Set,  for  its  safety,  there,  to  live  or  die. 

No  less  a  standard-bearer,  brave  and  true, 
Who  braves  the  scorn  of  prating  fools  and  knaves, 

Maintaining  credit,  honour,  faith,  like  you, 
The  man,  the  Nation's  solvency,  who  saves. 


60 


Thomas  Nelson 

O  BRAVE  and  broken  heart,  so  tried  and  tested, 
In  the  fierce  heat  of  bitter  grief  and  pain, 
I  have  a  sense  of  joy,  that  you  are  rested, 

Not  as  by  sleep ;  but  waking  up  again, 
Your  loss  made  good,  your  gallant  battle  ended, 

And  all  the  mystery  of  your  life  made  plain. 
To  our  shut-in,  short-sighted  vision  even, 

There  is  one  solving  of  the  riddle,  clear ; 
That  manhood's  crown  is  won  by  grace  from  heaven, 

In  the  still  battle-field,  alone,  untended 
But  by  the  angels ;  facing  without  fear 

The  certainty  of  death,  to  which  "  consenting  ", 
You  "  conquered  agony  "  and  shed  no  tear. 

O  hero  heart,  calm,  steadfast,  unlamenting, 
Your  victor  crown,  like  saintly  halo  shining, 
God  made,  with  fire  your  manhood's  stuff ,  refining. 


61 


To  Harriet  Langdon  Pruyn 

A  TINKLE  OF  HER  BAPTISMAL  BELL 
1868 

SOFT  and  sweet  is  the  chiming' 
Of  the  merry  musical  bells, 
Ringing  in  waves,  and  rhyming 
With  a  surge  that  ebbs  and  swells : 

Set  to  all  sorts  of  singing, 
And  suited  alike  to  all, 
The  bridal  and  burial  ringing 
With  tender  and  tuneful  call. 

Right  well  the  caster  knoweth 
Whence  comes  the  soft,  sweet  tone; 
And  while  the  metal  gloweth, 
Before  the  casting  is  done, 

With  generous  hand  he  throweth 
The  precious  silver  in ; 
And  thence,  as  the  legend  goeth, 
The  silvery  voices  begin. 

Now  I  take  the  loving  message 
Of  your  dear  baptismal  bell, 
To  be  the  promise  and  presage 
Of  your  life,  I  fain  would  tell ; 
62 


That  silver,  fined  in  the  fire 
Of  sorrow — if  need  must  be — 
Of  faith,  uplifted  higher, 
As  God  is  harder  to  see, 

Shall  teach  all  notes  of  sadness 
An  echo  hope  and  peace, 
And  tone;  all  times  of  gladness 
iWith  the  joys  that  never  cease. 


63 


A.  P.  P. 

ANNUNCIATION  DAY 

DEAR  friend,  whom,  years  of  testing  time 
Prove  truer,  dearer,  as  they  go, 
I  would  that  in  this  simple  rhyme, 
Some  power  might  make  you  feel  and  know, 

How  gracious  to  our  loving  eyes, 

Your  nature  grows,  from  grace  to  grace ; 

With  all  that  womanhood  must  prize; 
With  power  to  take  the  foremost  place, 
God  gives  to  her,  in  whom  the  race 

Of  man  finds,  on  this  holy  day, 

Eve's  fall  restored  in  Mary's  grace; 

With  heart  ingenious  to  devise 
All  liberal  things  with  lavish  hand; 

With  the  keen  insight  of  the  wise, 
With  courage,  for  the  right  to  stand. 
God  bless  the  day  that  gave  you  birth, 
Prolong  and  cheer  your  days  on  earth, 
And  from  the  Heavens,  opening  wide, 
Shed  light  on  your  life's  even-tide. 


MISCELLANEOUS 


Life-Sculpture 


CHISEL  in  hand,  stood  a  sculptor-boy 
With  his  marble  block,  before  him 
And  his  face  lit  up,  with  a  smile  of  joy, 
As  an  angel  dream  passed  o'er  him. 
He  carved  the  dream,  on  that  shapeless  stone, 

With  many  a  sharp  incision ; 
With  heaven's  own  light,  the  sculpture  shone 
He  had  caught  that  angel  vision. 

Sculptors  of  life  are  we,  as  we  stand, 

With  our  lives  uncarved  before  us, 
Waiting  the  time,  when  at  God's  command, 

Our  life-dream  shall  pass  o'er  us : 
If  we  carve  it  then,  on  the  yielding  stone, 

With  many  a  sharp  incision, 
Its  heavenly  beauty  shall  be  our  own, 

Our  lives,  that  angel  vision. 


Light 


DARKNESS  was  brooding  o'er  the  shapeless 
earth, 

Darkness,  the  twin  of  Chaos :  from  on  high 
No  star  shone  out  with  sweet  and  smiling  eye, 
Dimpling  the  solemn  deep,  with  twinkling  mirth. 
"  Let  there  be  light,"  the  Almighty  Father  said, 
And  where  in  thick  obscurity,  the  night 
Had  reigned,  broke  out  a  living  stream  of  light 
And  bore  away  the  darkness  deep  and  dread. 
So  on  man's  heart,  when  the  black  night  of  sin 

Shed  desolation,  darkness  and  despair, 
"  The  light,  to  light  the  Gentiles,"  bursting  in 

Turned  the  mind's  midnight  into  radiance  fair. 
"  Let  there  be  light."  It  was,  when  God  had  said. 
"  Let  there  be  light."  It  is,  for  Christ  has  bled. 


Gray  Cliff,  Newport 

WHAT  striv'st  thou  for,  oh,  thou  most  mighty 
Ocean, 
Rolling  in  ceaseless,  sweeping  surfs  ashore. 
Canst  thou  not  stay  thy  restless,  wild  commotion ; 

Must  thy  low  murmur  echo  evermore? 
Yet,  thou  art  better  than  our  hearts,  though  yearning 

Still  for  some  unattained,  unknown  land. 
Thou,  still  art  constant,  evermore  returning 

With  each  fresh  wave,  to  kiss  one  waiting  strand. 
O  heart,  if  restless,  like  the  yearning  Ocean, 
Like  it,  be  all  thy  waves,  of  one  emotion. 

Whither,  with  canvas  wings,  oh  ship,  art  sailing 

Homeward  or  outward  bound,  to  shore  or  sea? 
What  thought,  within  thy  strong  sides,  is  prevailing, 

Hope  or  despair,  sorrow,  or  careless  glee? 
Thou,  too,  art  like  our  hearts,  which  gayly  seeming, 

With  hope-sails  set  to  catch  each  f resh'ning  breeze ; 
In  truth,  are  sad,  with  tears  and  trials  teeming, 

Perhaps  to  sail  no  more  on  life's  wild  seas. 
Oh,  heart,  while  sailing  like  a  ship,  remember, 

Thou,  too,  may'st  founder,  in  a  rough  December. 

Why,  your  white  arms,  ye  windmills,  are  ye  crossing 
In  sad  succession,  to  the  evening  breeze, 

As  though  within  your  gray  old  heads  were  tossing 
Thoughts  of  fatigue,  and  longings  after  ease? 
69 


But  ye  are  better  than  our  hearts,  for  grieving 
Over  your  cares,  ye  work  your  destined  way ; 

While  they,  their  solemn  duties  weakly  leaving, 
In  helpless  sorrow,  weep  their  lives  away. 

Oh  heart,  if  like  those  hoary  giants  mourning, 
Why  not  be  taught  by  their  impressive  warning? 


70 


Long  Branch 

August,  A.  D.  1859. 

LAY  thy  long  arms,  upon  the  cold  grey  sand, 
O  thou  salt  sea, 

What  hast  thou  taken  in  thy  soft  white  hand, 
What  hast  thou  left  upon  that  waiting  strand, 
Hast  thou  given  aught  to  her,  or  she  to  thee? 

Is  she  thy  bride  reluctant  still,  still  waiting, 

Impatient  sea, 

Grown  grey,  from  years  of  doubtful  hesitating, 
Long  wooed,  not  won ;  half  liking  and  half  hating 

Thy  still  untired  faith  and  constancy? 

Dost  thou  still  woo  her,  with  those  constant  reaches 

O  patient  sea, 

That  run  so  far  up,  on  the  sandy  beaches  ? 
Is  this  the  lesson,  that  thy  motion  teaches 

Of  undiscouraged,  long  fidelity? 

Is  that  low  murmur,  love's  old,  oft  told  story 

O  loving  sea, 

Falling,  in  foam,  from  off  thy  lips  so  hoary 
White  with  the  rime  of  bearded  age,  and  glory, 

With  love's  most  musical  monotony. 


Nay  not  so  well  of  thee,  my  heart  believeth, 

O  thou  salt  sea, 
Thy  broad  breast,   not   with   such   unselfish  passion 

heaveth, 
Something  she  giveth  thee  and  something  she  receiveth, 

In  sure  and  understood  return  from  thee. 

She  gives  thee  wrecks  to  feed  on ;  for  she  reaches, 

O  treacherous  sea, 

Under  thy  hiding  waves,  her  fatal  beaches, 
While  thy  low  voice  the  midnight  wind  beseeches, 

To  join  with  thee  and  her,  in  foul  conspiracy. 

And  those  white  crests,  with  their  impatient  pawing, 

O  greedy  sea, 

Are  ravenous  teeth,  whose  sure,  resistless  gnawing 
Draws  keel,  and  hull,  and  masts,  thy  greedy  maw  in, 

And  crushes  all  in  thy  voracity. 

And  that  low  voice,  is  but  the  sound,  they  utter, 

O  faithless  sea, 

Who  in  an  undertone,  the  story  mutter 
In  breathless  midnight,  when  no  leaf  can  flutter, 

Of  foul,  night-seeking,  dark  conspiracy. 

Thy  every  surge, 
A  funeral  dirge; 
Each  curling  wave, 
A  rounded  grave; 
72 


Thy  sullen  roar 
Against  the  shore, 
The  passing  bell, 
The  tolling  knell. 

When  darkness  lies 
On  sea  and  skies ; 
And  mists  arise, 
Born  out  of  thee, 
To  vail  from  eyes, 
Both  sky  and  sea, 
Then,  hand  in  hand, 
O  sea  and  sand 
You  seek  your  prey ; 
And  when  the  day 
Breaks  on  the  wave, 
No  hand  can  save 
It  from  thy  grasp, 
But  that  salt  wave 
Stills  every  gasp; 
And  keel  and  mast 
Are  sinking  fast. 
No  sex,  no  age 
Escapes  thy  rage; 
And  when  their  cry 
Would  reach  the  sky, 
To  call  for  aid, 
From  God  on  High, 
Thy  roar  is  made 
73 


More  loud  and  strong, 
Upon  the  gale 
That  sweeps  along, 
While  ship  and  sail 
And  hull  and  mast 
Part,  sink,  are  lost. 
O  cruel  cost 
For  thy  mere  play 
That  ceaseless  rolls 
Through  night  and  day. 
God  save  the  souls 
That  trust  to  thee, 
O  faithless  sea. 

Xhy  long  arms  lie,  upon  the  old  grey  sand, 

O  treacherous  sea, 

Lingering  so  fondly  on  the  waiting  strand. 
What  hast  thou  left  behind  thee  on  the  land 

In  full  return,  for  what  she  gives  to  thee  ? 

Crushed  in  thy  cruel  jaws,  the  splinters  lie 

O  mighty  sea, 

Of  the  fair  bark  that  filled  the  loving  eye, 
With  hopes  of  joy,  but  destined  here  to  lie 

Broken  and  worthless,  from  thy  cruelty. 

And  to  thy  fellow,  in  that  cruel  plot, 

O  faithful  sea, 

Thy  madness  gone,  thy  fury  all  forgot, 
What  hast  thou  given,  that  she  fail  thee  not, 

In  thy  next  planned  and  foul  conspiracy? 
74 


The  bones  of  men,  white  as  thy  curling  foam 

O  crested  sea, 

Jewels,  and  gold,  and  gems,  to  make  their  home 
On  that  white  sand,  o'er  which  thy  billows  roam, 

Proud,  mighty,  fearless,  unrestrained  and  free. 

This  all,  of  thee,  my  dreaming  heart  believeth 

O  thou  salt  sea, 

For  this  the  sand  thy  curling  kiss  receiveth, 
Such  passion,  thy  broad,  billowy  breast  upheaveth, 

Insatiate,  cruel,  restless,  endlessly. 


75 


Under  the  Catskills  in  July 

MORNING 

F  AST-fleeting,  fleecy  cloud,  whose  veil  of  mist 
Floateth,  where'er  the  wooing  West  winds  list : 
Thy  soft,  moist  lips  the  Catskills'  crest  have 
kissed 

All  the  long  morning ;  until  cloud  and  crest, 
By  the  sweet  breath  of  summer  bound  and  blest, 
Of  two  are  one,  its  head  on  thy  white  breast : 
'Till  lifted  up  in  bridal  ecstasy, 
The  mountain  melts  and  merges  into  sky. 

AFTERNOON 

0  coy,  cool  cloud,  whose  silver  fringes  sweep, 
The  sky's  blue  depth,  and  run  with  laughing  leap 
Down  the  green  groves  and  gorges  of  the  hill : 
'Till  settling  down  as  weary  of  thy  play, 
Upon  the  mountain's  breast,  thou  liest  still, 

A  baby,  in  strong  arms,  to  sleep  away 

Thy  very  self:  and  when  thy  lips  have  kissed 

The  breast  that  holds  thee,  die  in  wreaths  of  mist. 

NIGHT 

1  look  again — the  mountain  stands  alone, 
In  long,  sharp  outlines,  separate  and  clear. 

The  night  wind  rose,  and  rolled  the  cloud  away. 
Rain  fell.    It  was  the  sad  cloud's  parting  tear. 
It  thundered.     'Twas  the  widowed  mountain's  groan. 
And  so  there  passed  before  me,  in  that  day, 
Bridal  and  birth  and  burial,  the  three 
That  round  the  circle  of  life's  mystery. 

76 


The  Wind  and  the  Water 

YE  are  most  kindred  things,  O  wind  and  water ; 
Mother,  ye  almost  seem  to  be,  and  daughter ; 
One  gathering  up  the  clouds  from  every  quarter, 
From  which  the  other's  born : 
Coying  the  one  with  leaves,  the  one  with  pebbles, 
Whose  faint  resistance,  only  playing  rebels, 
Makes  hills  and  valleys,  waterfalls  and  levels, 
Vocal,  till  night,  from  morn. 

Or  loud,  or  low,  ye  both  are  always  singing 

Some  song  of  praise ;  and  whether  winds  are  winging, 

Or  waves  are  whispering  soft,  or  flinging 

Its  words  into  the  sky. 
I  cannot  tell;  lor  sound  of  water  rushing, 
Is  like  the  storm-wind  in  the  trees ;  and  gushing 
In  gentle  brook,  it  is  the  zephyr  hushing 

The  leaves  with  lullaby. 

So  nature  witnesses  to  revelation : 

Deep,  brooded  o'er  by  Spirit,  at  creation, 

Wind  and  the  waters :  and  the  generation 

Of  earth  begun. 

The  morning  stars  sang  then,  the  angels  shouted, 
Ye  learned  their  message  undenied,  undoubted, 
Of  ordered  winds,  ruled  waves,  and  chaos  routed ; 

Ere  God  made  man. 

77 


Still  holier  truth  is  here :  the  Incarnation : 
God's  Son  made  man ;  and  men  by  new  creation, 
God's  sons;  and  lo,  for  this  regeneration, 

The  Spirit  and  the  deep, 
Wind  and  the  water,  these  are  reunited ; 
New  life  is  given,  where  the  old  was  blighted, 
New  light  shines  forth,  upon  the  world  benighted, 

And  Heaven  is  won,  to  keep. 


Fata  Morgana 


FROM  Reggie's  streets,  when  the  traveller's  eye 
Turns  to  Messina's  wave  of  glass, 
The  towers  and  trees,  that  behind  him  lie, 
In  loveliest  colours,  before  him  pass. 

So  from  the  heights  of  a  green  old  age 
When  we  turn  to  the  past  with  its  haze  of  tears, 

We  see,  in  its  clear,  recording  page 
The  vanishing  visions  of  life's  young  years. 


On  a  Sun-Dial 

"  Horas  non  numero  nisi  serenas." 

THERE  stands,  in  the  garden  of  old  St.  Mark, 
A  sun-dial  quaint  and  gray, 
Taking  no  heed  of  the  hours,  that  in  dark, 
Pass  over  it,  day  by  day. 
It  has  stood  for  ages,  among  the  flowers 

In  that  land  of  sky  and  song. 
"  I  number  none  but  the  cloudless  hours  " 
Its  motto,  the  live  day  long. 

So  let  my  heart,  in  the  garden  of  life, 

Its  calendar,  cheerfully  keep, 
Taking  no  note,  of  the  sorrow  and  strife, 

That  in  shadow,  across  it  sweep ; 
Content  to  dwell,  in  this  world  of  ours, 

In  the  hope,  that  is  twin  with  love 
And  numbering  "  none  but  the  cloudless  hours," 

Till  the  dayspring  dawn  from  above. 


80 


To  a  Violet 

SKY-tinctured,  skyward-gazing  flower, 
Growing  more  sky-like  every  hour ; 
Emblem  of  unpretending   worth, 
Teach  us,  whose  look  is  bent  on  earth, 
To  gaze  with  thee,  upon  the  sky. 
That  our  souls,  drawn  up,  with  our  eyes,  on  high, 
May  pass  away,  like  thy  scent  at  even, 
Calmly,  from  hoping,  to  rest  in  Heaven. 


81 


"Domine  Aperi  Labias  Nostras 


"O 


LORD,  open  Thou,  our  lips, " 
The  silence  falls 
Of  some  great  grief; 
The  dark  our  heart  appalls, 
We  seek  relief, 

Yet  know  not  what  to  say 
And  know  not  how  to  pray 
Till  Thou,  O  Lord,  shalt  open  our  lips. 

Say  "Ephphatha,"  O  Lord, 

Our  lips  are  dumb. 

"  Thy  Kingdom  come  " 
They  can  not  say, 
Nor  be  content,  with  every  day, 
To  ask  just  "  daily  bread  ",  and  pray 

"  Thy  Will  be  done," 

Save  when  Thy  most  benignant  sun 
Makes  Thy  will,  theirs : 
And  all  our  prayers 
Are  wilful  words,  and  anxious  cares, 

And  wayward  thoughts,  till  Thy  Hand  strips, 

The  thickness,  from  our  stammering  lips. 

"  O  Lord,  open  Thou,  our  lips, "  to-day 
Touch  them,  if  need  be,  with  the  shame 

Of  spittle ;  let  Thy  chastening  rod 

Bend  them,  to  press  themselves  against  the  clay 

Of,  even,  death ;  and  teach  us,  so,  the  name 
Of  sorrow,  that  it  is  "  the  sent "  of  God. 
82 


O  Lord,  open  Thou,  our  lips, 

To  show  Thy  praise : 
The  tongue  within, 

Man's  glory,  wake  with  Thine  arousing  Voice ; 
And  open  these  long-shut  and  rusted  gates, 

To  let  the  words  out,  wherein  they  rejoice, 
Who  do  no  sin, 

Through  Heaven's  eternal  days. 

"  O  Lord,  open  Thou,  our  lips,  " 

They  are  uncircumcised; 
With  sorrow's  sharpest  knife, 

Wound  their  dumb  silence,  till  surprised 
With  pain,  and  wakened  so  to  life, 
Cut  loose  from  lust  and  words  of  shame, 
Cut  loose  from  idle  words  and  vain, 
They  learn  the  lesson  of  all  pain, 

To  pray; 

And  when  we  weep,  with  tears  to  say 
"Thy  will  be  done;" 

Or  if  we  long  for  those  away 

Whom  Thou  hast  taken,  learn  to  say 
"  Thy  Kingdom  come.  " 


83 


A  Prayer 


LORD,  grant  to  me  a  charmed  life, 
Its  spell,  Thy  Son's  great  Name, 
To  bear  me  through  the  world's  hard  strife. 
With  pure  and  glorious  aim. 

That  when  the  battle  all  is  past, 

The  victory  may  be  won, 
And  my  soul  stand  complete  at  last, 

Through  Thine  Eternal  Son. 


84 


The  Litany 


"That  it  may  please  Thee  to  defend  the  fatherless  children;  we 
beseech  Thee  to  hear  us." 

DEAR  Mother  Church,  whose  tender  care 
Provides  for  every  want  a  prayer ; 
Bringing  thy  children  all  to  thee, 
To  kneel  beside  Thy  bended  knee, 
In  manhood,  youth  and  infancy ; 
What  prayer  of  all  Thy  precious  store 
So  runs  with  blessings  o'er  and  o'er, 

As  the  deep  solemn  Litany; 
Whose  voice  of  mingled  tears  and  sighs 

Bows  every  heart,  to  meet  each  knee ; 
And  melts  all  hearts  in  moistened  eyes. 
Gladly  we  seek  its  softening  strain, 
And  dwell  upon  its  sweet  refrain, 
When  Lent,  in  penitential  woe 
Sets  tears  of  sorrow,  free  to  flow; 
Gladly  when  Advent's  trumpet  tone 
Proclaims  the  coming  Judgment-throne : 

When  Thy  great  heart  is  pierced  through ; 
In  the  world's  grief ;  in  nations'  fears ; 
Or  when,  a  single  heart,  in  tears, 
That  to  the  world,  unheeded  flow, 
Christ's  pitying  Heart,  for  comfort  nears. 
85 


Dear  Mother  Church;  when-,  born  of  thee 

God  called  us,  by  the  sacred  name 
Of  child ;  it  was  a  guarantee 

That,  come  what  would,  of  sorrow,  shame, 
Or  suffering;  still  a  Father's  care 
Would  shed  upon  the  children's  prayer, 
He  taught  their  childish  lips  to  frame, 
A  Father's  love,  through  all,  the  same. 

O  God,  we  thank  Thee,  for  that  word. 
It  blunts  the  sharpness  of  the  sword, 

That  made  us  children,  fatherless. 
We  dwell  upon  its  soothing  sound, 
It  offers  balm,  to  heal  our  wound. 
"  Our  Father,  "  still  our  lips  may  say, 
Child  hearts  may  have  their  loving  way, 

And,  longing  for  their  old  caress, 
May  lean  on  Thee,  when  the  strong  arm 
Is  gone,  that  shielded  us  from  harm: 
And  look  to  Thee,  when  the  calm  eye, 
That  strengthened  us,  no  more,  is  nigh, 
But  Thine  looks  on  us,  from  the  sky. 
"  Our  Father,"  hear  Thy  children  cry ; 
For  in  that  sorrow,  deep  and  wild 
Unsoothed,  unchanging,  unbeguiled, 
That  breaks  our  hearts ;  the  strongest  man 

Gladly  becomes  a  little  child, 
And  speaks,  as  well  as  sorrow  can, 

Or  listens,  while  God's  children  send 
86 


Their  common  prayer,  to  Jesu's  ear, 

"  That  it  may  please  Thee  to  defend 
Thy  children  fatherless,  we  pray  Thee  hear. 
And  then,  comes  back  Thy  promise  old, 
Which  Holy  Church  hath  often  told, 
That  Thou  hast  promised  oft,  to  bless 
The  widow  and  the  fatherless; 
Dost  call  Thyself,  of  them,  the  God; 

Their  cause  defendest,  and  wilt  hear, 
From  Thy  serene  and  high  abode, 

Their  child-prayers;  and  dost  mark  the  tear 
Of  their  poor  hearts ;  and  with  the  rod, 
That  smites  the  water  from  the  rock 

Of  hardest  hearts,  dost  draw  them  near 
To  Thee ;  and  biddest  them  loudly  knock, 

As  children,  at  their  Father's  door, 
Till  Thou  shalt  bid  them  enter  in 
And  dwell  with  Thee,  where  sorrow,  sin 

And  parting,  come  not,  evermore. 

O  Father,  only  Father,  now, 

For  us,  Thy  children,  hear  the  prayer, 
Which  all  Thy  Church,  doth  offer  here; 

While  we,  before  Thy  mercy  bow. 

"  That  it  may  please  Thee  still  to  bless 
The  widow  and  the  fatherless." 


87 


A  Child's  Song 


"I  cannot  sing,  for   Heaven  is  gone   away."— A  little  girl's 
saying. 

MY  house  is  full  of  brightest  cheer, 
And  rings  with  pleasant  sound  of  song, 
For  there,  a  little  child,  so  dear, 
Makes  music  all  the  live  day  long. 

I  hear  her  in  the  garden  now, 

Mixing  her  voice  with  other  birds, 
Sweeter  than  theirs;  and  fragrant  too 

As  flowers,  seem  her  broken  words ; 
Broken,  to  let  their  sweetness  out, 

As  wayside  flowers  under  foot. 
And  now  the  voice  floats  down  the  stairs 

Lulling  her  dolls  to  quiet  sleep, 
Now  creeps  among  my  thoughts  and  cares 
And  even  sets  to  rhyme,  my  prayers, 
Stealing  on  tip-toe  in  the  deep, 
Still  silence  of  my  books  and  work; 
Nor  does  such  stillness  ever  lurk 
In  all  my  house,  she  will  not  fill, 
Nor  anxious  care,  she  can  not  kill, 
Nor  painful  doubt,  she  does  not  while 
Away,  with  sunny  song  and  smile. 


Why  do  these  darlings  sing  all  day  ? 

What  wind,  across  the  fine-strung  harp 
Of  their  young  souls,  in  constant  play 

Sweeps  out  the  notes,  so  clear  and  sharp? 
None,  but  God's  wind.    I  sing  sometimes, 

A  break  for  over-busy  brain — 
And  find,  in  running  into  rhymes, 

Relief,  for  closer  thought  again. 
We  sing  for  pleasure,  sing  for  fame, 

Sorrow  sheds  tears,  sometimes,  in  song; 
So  measured,  fall  its  drops  of  rain 
Wrung  out  by  very  press  of  pain 

But  not  to  them  such  things  belong: 

Why  do  they  sing?    A  little  child 
Who  thought  in  music,  half  the  time, 

And  others'  cares  and  thoughts  beguiled, 
With  constant  singing,  just  as  mine, 

Had  sung  the  sun  up,  from  the  gray 
Of  early  morning;  and,  at  noon 

Sang  still;  and  sang  till  close  of  day, 
Which  drew  the  dark  on,  all  too  soon : 

And  then  she  stopped.    Oft,  to  the  stars 
She  had  made  music ;  and  the  moon 
That  made  the  twilight  bright,  in  June, 
Had  often  heard  her  pretty  tune ; 

— A  silver  sight  and  silver  sound — 
But  when  the  dark  came,  she  was  still, 

Like  bird  shut  in  by  cruel  bars, 
That  looks  in  silence,  round  and  round, 

But  for  a  song  has  no  more  will. 
89 


And  as  she  looked  up  at  the  sky 
Still  silent,  and  we  asked  her  why, 

"  I  can  not  sing/' — the  child  would  say — 
"  My  song,  for  Heaven  is  gone  away." 

Therefore  they  sing ;  "  for  Heaven  is  near ; " 

And  round  their  souls,  that  even  weight, 
— We  feel  not — of  the  atmosphere, 
Presses  the  softness  of  its  clear, 

Deep,  beauty,  early,  long  and  late. 
The  blue  of  heaven,  the  light  of  stars 
The  sunlight  with  its  golden  bars, 
The  scented  air,  the  tinted  sky, 
The  soft  wind-whisper,  blowing  by, 
The  twilight  grey,  the  silver  moon. 
Fresh  morning  and  the  panting  noon, 
And  evening  rest ;  these  touch  their  souls' 
Most  hidden  springs,  and  secret  keys, 
And  thence  flow  out  the  symphonies, 
As  ocean-wave  melodious  rolls — 
In  gushing  song.    And  when  the  late, 
Dark  evening  gathers ;  then  a  hush 
Falls  on  them,  and  restrains  the  gush. 

"  I  can  not  sing,"  they  say 

In  silence,  "  Heaven  is  away." 

They  sing  by  instinct ;  but  by  effort,  we : 
And  far-off  Heaven  hears  their  simple  song; 

But  smiles  not  on  our  strained  minstrelsy, 

Harped  upon  instruments,  that  to  earth  belong. 
90 


Bear  child-heart,  in  the  darkest  hours, 
Heaven  goes  not  far  away  from  thee ; 
Thy  very  soul,  an  azure  arch, 
Thy  thoughts,  the  stars  that  keep  their  march; 
God's  Love,  the  sun,  reflecting  light, 
On  the  pale  moon  of  our  love, 
Thyself,  an  impress  from  above, 

Showing  Heaven  to  our  enraptured  sight, 

That  lingers  with  its  longest  looks  on  thee ; 
And  counts  thee,  what  the  earth  esteems  its  flowers 
And  Heaven,  its  stars.     Sing,  darling,  all  the  hours. 

Only,  for  us,  the  clouds  of  sin, 

The  dark  of  evil  coming  in, 

The  veil  of  sense  upon  our  eyes, 
Our  blinding  tears,  the  dust  we  raise 

In  hot  pursuit  of  vanities ; 
Only  from  us,  such  things  as  these 

Shut  Heaven  out,  but  not  from  thee; 
Thy  song  may  rise,  whene'er  it  please, 

Its  way  to  Heaven  is  short  and  free. 

Nor  even  from  us,  is  Heaven  gone : 
The  cloud  that  comes  before  the  Throne 
Is  of  earth- vapours ;  and  with  God, 
There  is  no  near,  there  is  no  far; 
But  faith  in  lowly  reverence  bowed, 
In  every  cloud  can  set  its  star. 
91 


Sing,  when  the  Heaven  seems  gone  away, 

O  heart  of  child,  oh  heart  of  man, 
In  midnight  dark,  or  twilight  grey, 
At  dawn,  or  noon,  or  close  of  day ; 

Sing  all  the  while  you  can. 
Sing,  and  the  arrow  of  thy  song, 

From  full-bent  soul,  with  fervour  drawn, 
Shall  find  out  God.    And  at  that  day, 
When  Heaven  and  earth  shall  pass  away, 
New  melodies,  the  heart  shall  learn, 
With  new  accord,  our  songs  shall  burn, 
Not  even,  the  Heaven,  then,  shall  be, 

Between  thy  Father,  child,  and  thee. 


92 


Oh  Weary  Earth 

Thou  sentest  a  gracious  rain  upon   Thine  inheritance,  and 
refreshedst  it  when  it  was  weary. — Ps.  Ixviii:  9. 

OH  weary,  weary  earth 
Lying  before  the  calm,  deep  eye 

Of  the  all-Lover, 
Baring  thy  utter  dearth 
And  desolation,  to  the  blue,  soft  sky 

That  hangeth  over, 

And  praying  with  thy  pleading  speechlessness, 
Of  flower  and  blade,  and  leaf,  and  the  dry  grains  of 

dust, 

So  many  thousand  eyes  that  look  to  Heaven, 
In  the  calm  waiting  of  abiding  trust, 

All  the  soft  morning  through,  and  the  hot  noon,  till 

even; 
Well  art  thou  weary,  by  life's  ploughing  riven 

In  furrows  deep,  for  the  dead  grain's  safe  keeping ; 
Weary  of  death's  still  deeper  furrows  driven, 

For  longer  seed-time,  but  for  richer  reaping, 
Into  thy  patient  breast,  that  holds  for  Heaven 

The  great  and  golden  harvest  of  the  sleeping; 
Still  trust  and  look,  for  though  thou  art  so  weary, 

God  still  is  gracious  and  is  over  all, 
After  these  scorching  days,  and  nights  so  dreary, 
His  rain,  on  His  inheritance,  shall  fall. 
93 


Tears 

THE  tears  of  childhood  likest  are 
To  April's  sunny  rain ; 
While  falling  fastest,  falls  a  bar 
Of  sunlight,  streaming  from  afar 

Across  the  level  plain, 
While  tears  are  falling,  falls  a  bar 
Of  smile-light  like  a  summer  star, 
And  joy  returns  again. 

And  youth's  hot  tears  come  gushing  down, 

Like  August's  noisy  shower, 
E'en  in  its  midst  'tis  past,  and  light 
Plays  revelling  on  earth's  freshened  sight, 

As  in  a  fairy  bower ; 
E'en  in  its  midst  youth's  grief  is  gone, 
And  days,  as  bright  as  ever  shone, 

Succeed  that  darkling  hour. 

And  manhood's  tears  fall,  soft,  in  grief 

Like  sad  October's  rain; 
Long  dreary  days,  with  no  relief, 
Only  the  sound  of  falling  leaf, 

And  all  is  still  again : 
Long  days,  it  weeps  unceasing  tears, 
Deep  sighs  it  heaves  for  by-gone  years, 

Then,  silent,  bears  its  pain. 
94 


Old  age  weeps  only  frozen  tears ; 

As  down  a  bare  tree's  side ; 
December  flakes  fall  few  and  fast, 
And  freezing  as  they  fall,  will  last 

Till  comes  the  sweet  Spring-tide  ; 
So  down  its  furrowed  cheeks  tears  fall, 
Frozen  and  fast,  nor  melt,  on  earth,  at  all. 


95 


Shells 

FAR  out  at  sea,  a  tiny  boat* 
Has  set  her  tiny  sail, 
Swiftly  we  see  it  onward  float, 
As  freshens  still  the  gale. 
A  rainbow,  in  it,  must  have  slept, 

To  give  it  tints  so  fair, 
Or  loveliest  angel,  in  it,  wept, 

A  pearl,  in  every  tear. 
Brighter,  than  pen  of  mine  can  tell, 
Sailed  on,  that  little  fearless  shell. 

Deep,  in  the  chambers  of  the  sea, 

Where  Ocean's  mermaids  dwell, 
A  palace  stood,  it  seemed  to  me, 

Its  every  stone  a  shell. 
And  oh,  what  glorious  hues,  were  they, 

That  flashed  upon  my  eye, 
Of  blue  and  green,  and  gold  and  gray, 

That,  there,  unnoticed,  lie. 
As  violets  sweet,  in  loneliest  dells, 
So  blush  unseen,  those  beauteous  shells. 

Thus  on  the  sea,  and  in  its  caves, 

These  painted  sea-gems  lie, 
As  tombstones,  o'er  its  many  graves 

Of  low-born  men  and  high : 


*The  Nautilus. 

96 


And  when  they  rest  upon  the  shore, 

In  wealth's  luxurious  ease, 
They  sound  to  us,  the  solemn  roar 

They  learned  beneath  the  seas. 
As  exiles,  though  afar,  they  roam, 
Still  sing  the  songs  they  learned  at  home. 


97 


Rejected  Address* 

JENNY  LIND  TO  AMERICA 

HAIL  to  thee,  home  of  the  free  and  the  fearless, 
Gladly  my  spirit  seeks  shelter  in  thee, 
Rising  so  fair,  from  the  breast  of  the  cheerless 
And  wearisome  waste  of  the  wave-dimpled  sea! 
Shrine  of  true  liberty,  long  has  my  spirit 
Panted  and  pined  for  thy  sunnier  clime, 
Longing,  thy  glories  and  grace,  to  inherit, 
Brightest  and  best  of  the  daughters  of  time. 

Hope  of  the  exile  and  home  of  the  ranger, 

Mighty  in  all  that  the  world  counteth  fair, 
Take  to  thy  bosom,  and  cherish  the  stranger 

Own  her,  thy  daughter,  thy  hearth  let  her  share. 
Full  in  my  breast,  are  the  warm  pulses  swelling, 

Warmer  for  welcoming  thee  as  my  home ; 
Still  will  my  lips  of  thy  glories  be  telling, 

Wide,  through  the  world,  as  my  footsteps  may  roam. 


*  Offered   in  competition,    when  Jenny  Lind   first  visited 
America ;  but  not  accepted. 


Moonlight 


ALL  the  spaces,  in  the  still, 
Deep  silence  of  this  midnight  hour, 
Which  busy  day  would  ever  fill, 
With  hum  of  bee  around  a  flower, 
Or  with  the  hazy,  seething  rise 

Of  earth-born  vapours  to  the  sun, 
The  moonlight  filled ;  and  from  the  skies 

To  earth  was  silence;  and  in  one 
Unbroken  column  rose  the  light, 
In  silvery  softness,  out  of  sight. 


99 


V.  M.  R. 

Asleep  January  31,  1885 

FOLDED  hands  and  fettered  feet; 
Sealed  eyes,  in  slumber  sweet; 
Closed  mouth,  undimpled  chin; 
Cheeks,  so  pale  and  cold  and  thin; 
No  more  beating  of  the  heart, 
No  more  breath,  the  lips  to  part ; 
Not  a  word,  and  not  a  kiss ; 
Has  our  love  all  come  to  this  ? 

For  the  Body,  yes;  'tis  all! 
Like  the  seed,  sown  in  the  Fall, 
Planted  in  the  earth  away, 
Mingled  with  its  kindred  clay, 
Waiting  through  the  wintry  snow, 
Till  the  wind  of  Spring  shall  blow ; 
Certain  then  to  wake  from  sleep; 
God,  this  planting,  safe,  will  keep. 

Meanwhile,  with  activities 
Freer  far,  and  clearer  eyes, 
Wakes  her  soul,  and  warms  with  love ; 
First  for  God,  and  things  above; 
Then  with  pity  tender,  true, 
Loving,  praying,  turns  to  you; 
Draws  your  heart,  her  joys  to  see; 
Hearts,  where  treasures  are,  will  be. 

100 


October 

E.  G.  D.  G.  :,  ,>  /,,'J, 

NOT  sad  nor  gay,  and  not  sober 
Exactly,  these  autumn  days, 
Of  the  scarlet-and-gold  October 
Stand  out,  in  their  luminous  haze ; 
Dreamy  and  thoughtful  and  tender, 

And  rich  with  the  sort  of  tint 
That  a  poet-artist  would  render, 
With  colour  that  knows  no  stint. 

Really,  the  beauty  and  glory 

Is  only  the  ripeness  of  leaf ; 
Telling  the  Spring-time  story, 

And  the  Summer's  heat,  and  the  grief 
Of  the  leaden  rains  of  September, 

And  the  first  rough  touch  of  frost; 
Not  one  do  they  fail  to  remember, 

Whatever  has  been  its  cost. 

This  is  no  gaudy  beauty 

Of  a  flower-bed  lush  in  June ; 
'Tis  the  glory  of  fulfilled  duty, 

The  chord,  resolved,  of  a  tune : 
And  the  red  is  the  blood  of  martyrs, 

And  the  yellow,  their  crown  of  gold ; 
He  is  childish,  for  youth,  who  barters 

The  greatness  of  growing  old. 
101 


One  thing  I  note  in  this  splendour, 

That  the  rich  dark  green  of  pine 
Makes' the  back-ground  strong  and  tender, 

Against  which,  glow  and  shine 
The  tints  of  the  rainbow  colours, 

On  the  hillsides  low  and  high ; 
More  bright,  for  one  hue  that  is  duller, 

Against  the  sunlit  sky. 

And  I  gather,  my  darling,  this  lesson, 

That  lies  on  your  precious  life, 
Of  the  real  and  infinite  blessing, 

Of  ripeness  won  through  strife; 
Through  pain,  and  sorrow,  and  trouble, 

And  of  richness,  growing  with  years, 
And  of  happiness,  more  than  double, 

By  contrast  with  trials  and  tears. 


102 


'Nihil  Longe  Deo" 

NOTHING  is  far  from  Thee,  no  one,  no  where ; 
Teach  us  this  lesson,  Lord,  and  draw  to  Thee 
Our  poor  and  wandering  hearts,  each  day  more 
near, 
Where  only  they  at  rest  and  peace  can  be. 

Yet  some  are  nearer  Thee,  dear  Lord,  than  we; 

"  They  in  the  rest  of  Paradise  who  dwell, " 
And,  mirrored  in  the  calm  and  crystal  sea, 

Gaze  on  that  vision  tongue  can  never  tell. 

So  near  they  seem  to  Thee,  who  art  not  far 

From  us;  that  whereso'er  we  stray, 
If  only  Thou  be  near,  then  they  too  are, 

From  our  poor  empty  hearts,  not  far  away. 

Time,  distance,  parting,  all  the  pains  and  fears 
About  our  living  loves ;  these  are  not  known 

About  our  dead.    Unseen  for  blinding  tears, 
Their  nearness  to  us,  is  most  like  Thine  own. 

Far  as  they  are  from  hands  and  eyes  that  strain 
To  see,  to  feel  them,  this  at  least  we  know, 

We  never  leave  them,  and  no  added  pain 
Of  parting  hurts  us,  whereso'er  we  go. 
103 


Yaddo,  Dec.  24 


WHY  do  ye  linger  so  long  at  Yaddo, 
Tinging,  with  gold,  the  pines'  grave  green, 
Flushing,  witfi  crimson  tint,  the  shadow 
Cast,  so  clear,  in  the  lake's  smooth  sheen;. 
Dear  autumn  leaves,  sky-mined  of  the  metal 

Which,  from  the  earth,  makes  bronze  and  gold ; 
Bringing  back  summer,  when  every  petal, 
Rainbow  hues  could,  each  day,  unfold? 

Dear  leaves  of  autumn,  what  are  you  doing, 

Lying  here,  yellow  and  red  and  brown, 
Is  it  stuff,  for  a  funeral  pall,  you  are  strewing, 

With  every  breath,  as  you  flutter  down; 
Burying  little  lost  thoughts,  that  wandered 

Out  in  the  wood,  like  the  "  babes  "  that  died ; 
Is  it  for  this  that  your  wealth  is  squandered, 

Lovingly,  lavishly,  far  and  wide? 

And  the  leaves  whispered,  with  fleck  of  shadow 

And  sunlight  mingled,  in  tremulous  play, 
"  We  are  waiting  here  for  the  Queen  of  Yaddo, 

To  wave  her  farewell  when  she  goes  away; 
And  then  on  the  soft  sweet  breast  of  our  Mother, 

Who  bore  us  and  nursed  us,  to  lay  us  down, 
And  give  life  back  to  her,  so  that  another 

Spring-birth  of  leaves  may  be  Yaddo's  crown. 
104 


The  First  Soap  Bubble 

M.  S.  G. 

OTHE  beauty  of  the  vision,  when  the  bubble 
upward  flew, 

With  its  wonder  and  its  glory  breaking  on 
her  raptured  view. 
Floating,    dancing,   soaring,   falling,   gathering   every 

rainbow  hue, 

Like  a  larger  dew-drop,  glowing,  while  the  sunset  tints 
are  new. 

O,  the  beauty  of  the  vision;  all  that  wealth  of  golden 
hair 

Making  bright  the  noonday  sunlight,  that  so  likes  to 
linger  there 

And  the  blue-gray  eyes  wide  open,  in  their  wonder  and 
delight 

And  the  hands  reached  out  to  catch  the  phantom  pass- 
ing out  of  sight. 

Silence,  suddenly  outbreaking  in  a  short  bird-note  of 

joy, 

And  the  little  figure  starting  to  pursue  the  newest  toy, 
And  the  flush,  half  hope,  half  sorrow,  when  it  broke, 

and  empty  air 
Kept  no  trace  of  all  the  beauty,  that  had  just  been 

floating  there. 

105 


0  my  darling,  while  the  bubble  filled  your  eye  and 

heart  with  glee, 
With  its  clearness  and  its  colour,  and  its  airy  flight  so 

free, 
Heart  and  eye  of  mine  were  fastened,  on  the  sweetness 

and  the  grace 
Of  your  little  fairy  figure  and  your  dear  upturned  face. 

Till  it  seemed  to  me,  the  story  of  our  lives  was  written 
there ; 

How  we  set  our  hearts  on  bubbles,  that  soon  vanish 
into  air ; 

How  the  beauty  and  the  glory  of  the  earth  and  of  the 
skies 

Seem  to  gather  and  go  out  in  them,  before  our  blind- 
ing eyes. 

And  I  longed  to  catch  the  spirit,  as  I  saw  it  in  your 

face; 
And  I  prayed  the  Lord  to  give  me  such  a  measure  of 

His  grace, 
That  with  calm  and  clear  uplifting  of  a  still  expectant 

eye, 

1  might  see  the  fleeting  beauty  of  this  world  go  hurry- 

ing by. 

While  I  knew,  for  every  little  bubble  bursting  in  the 

air, 
There  would  come  another  some  time,  just  as  bright 

and  just  as  fair, 
And  I  knew,  that  life's  true  losses  were  not  bubbles 

passed  away, 
But  God's  jewels  safely  stored,  dearer,  nearer,  every 

day. 

106 


Shadows 

IT  is  not  reading,  makes  us  wise; 
But  most  we  learn,  by  sitting  still, 
To  hear  the  whispers  of  God's  Will, 
And  watch  His  ways,  with  patient  eyes. 

Books  are  the  teachers  of  man's  wit; 

The  Heaven  is  God's  eternal  seat; 

All  earth,  a  school;  and  at  His  Feet, 
That  reach  the  long  way  down,  we  sit, 

Trying  to  spell  out  life's  blurred  page, 
Whose  deep,  mysterious,  loving  truth, 
We  read  not,  until  childhood,  youth, 

And  manhood  have  grown  gray,  with  age. 

But  word  by  word,  the  page  we  spell, 
And  learn  some  lesson  every  day, 
To  wait,  to  work,  to  watch,  to  pray, 

And,  last  of  all,  to  bear  God's  will. 

This  I  have  learned;  that  sorrows  are 
But  shadows  cast  by  God's  great  love, 
As  by  the  sunlight  from  above 

That  shineth  on  us,  from  afar. 

And  lest  our  heart  grow  hard,  with  heat, 
Beneath  the  loving  sun  of  God, 
It  casts  a  shadow  of  His  Rod 

And  shades  our  souls,  that  lie  beneath. 
107 


And,  lest  our  hearts  grow  dry  again, 
He  sheds  the  shadow  of  our  fears, 
And  draws  the  misty  veil  of  tears, 

To  make  us  patient  and  serene. 

And  deep  and  far,  the  shadows  fall, 

Deepest,  when  clouds  of  death  have  come, 
Darkest  about  the  empty  home 

Far-reaching,  sometimes,  over  all. 

But,  in  the  death  of  good  and  great, 
When  all  the  earth  lies  in  the  shade, 
The  deepest  shadow,  still,  is  made, 

On  those,  who  cling  about  His  feet. 

Yet  through  the  shadow,  shines  the  sun ; 
There  is  no  sunlight  without  shade, 
No  sun,  if  shadows  be  not  made; 

And  those,  who  leave  us,  are  not  gone. 

It  is  not  nearness,  that  we  need, 

To  press  our  darlings,  to  our  heart ; 
For,  when  they  seem  most  far  apart, 

They,  nearest  are,  to  us,  indeed. 

It  is  not  nearness,  that  we  need 

But  only  faith,  flesh-clothed  in  love, 
That  bids,  the  parting  mountain,  move; 

And  God's  dark  writings,  all  can  read. 

Yet,  with  the  shadow,  shines  the  sun; 
There  is  no  sunlight  without  shade 
No  sun,  if  shadows  be  not  made; 

And  those  that  leave  us,  are  not  gone. 
108 


And  through  the  shadows,  shines  the  sun; 

God's  love,  triumphant  over  all, 

Attests  its  presence  by  the  fall 
Of  shadows  gathering,  one  by  one. 

The  shadows  gather,  one  by  one ; 

The  evening  hastens ;  then  the  night ; 

And  then  the  breaking  dawn  grows  light, 
And  out  bursts,  God's  eternal  sun. 


109 


M 


Through  the  Curtain 

M.  S.  G. 

Y  dearest  Baby,  playing  in  the  room 

Runs  through  a  curtain — parting  as  she  goes 
And  falling  to  again — and  on  tip  toes 
She  stands,  looks  back  and  says,  "  all  gone  " ;  and  night 
And  silence  are,  where  there  was  speech  and  light. 
And  I  stand,  waiting,  in  the  growing  gloom, — 
But,  in  a  moment  comes  a  little  hand, 
Puts  back  the  curtain,  and  that  sweetest  face 
Smile- wreathed,  and  with  a  look  of  glad  surprise 
Beaming  and  brimming  in  the  dear  blue  eyes 
Comes  towards  me,  fast  as  running  feet  can  race, 
And,  falling  in  my  wide  arms'  fast  embrace, 

Says  "  O  " !  as  if  she  thought  I  would  not  stand 
And  wait  for  her,  with  patience,  in  my  place. 

THROUGH  THE  VAIL 
M.  H.  D. 

My  dearest  darling,  whose  sweet  presence  made 

My  work-time,  play-time,  and  filled  earth  with  light ; 
I  saw  the  vail  lift,  through  which,  out  of  sight 

You  passed,  and  as  it  fell,  there  fell  the  shade 
Of  sorrow,  silence,  solitude,  and  night. 

"All  gone?"    I  know  God  would  not  let  that  be! 


no 


I  know  that  only  to  another  room 
Of  the  dear  Father's  House,  Thy  soul  hath  come. 
I  know,  it  but  an  instant  seems  to  Thee, 
Till,  through  the  vail,  uplifted  then  for  me 
Thy  voice  shall  fill  my  ear ;  thyself,  my  eyes. 
Shall  it  there  stir  in  Thee,  love's  sweet  surprise 
To  know,  that  since  you  passed,  in  the  same  place 
You  left  me,  I  have  waited,  for  Thy  face  ? 


in 


Telephone 

M.  S.  G. 

MY  sweetest  Baby,  playing  in  the  room 
Where  she  had  seen  me  use  the  telephone, 
Whose  far-voiced  string  has  power  to  take 
the  tone 

Of  the  most  distant  speaker,  asked  to  come 
Into  dear  arms,  one  day,  when  I  was  gone; 
And  pressing  her  sweet  lips  against  the  cup, 

Called  me  by  the  pet  name  that's  all  her  own. 
I  was  too  far  away  to  hear.     But  one  took  up 

The  word,  and  swifter  than  the  rushing  wind, 
Sent  it,  on  lightning  wings,  to  cheer  my  heart, 
And  as  I  read  the  word,  it  soothed  the  smart 

Of  absence,  seeming,  somehow,  power  to  find 
To  speak,  with  all  the  dearness  of  her  voice, 
And  make  my  desert  loneliness  rejoice. 
M.  H.  D. 

O  God,  Who  mak'st  Thine  angels  to  be  winds, 
Thy  Ministers  fire:   I  am  farther  still 
From  one  more  dear.     O  might  it  be  Thy  Will, 

Taking  the  mystic  cord,  which  surely  binds 
All  hearts,  however  parted,  into  one 
Communion,  in  the  Body  of  Thy  Son — 

To  let  that  dear  voice  speak  one  word  to  me, 
Call  me  by  name,  and  since  I  am  not  near 
Enough,  its  sweet  familiar  tones,  to  hear, 

Let  her  own  Angel,  who,  from  her  new  birth 

Has  watched  her,  till  he  bore  her  soul  from  earth, 
Leave  her  a  moment — She  is  safe  with  Thee — 

And  speak,  just  as  she  spake,  that  I  may  dream 
I  hear  once  more  the  music  of  that  voice, 
Which,  speaking,  seemed  to  make  the  world  rejoice, 

And  silent,  makes  the  world,  so  silent,  seem. 

112 


Goodnight  and  Goodbye 

THESE  are  life's    two    commendatory    prayers, 
"  Goodnight, " 
"  Goodbye  " ;  not  wishes  only,  for  love's  holy 
rite 

Of  trusting  worship  waves  the  censer  there, 
Whose  rising  fragrance  makes  each  wish,  a  prayer; 
And  the  same  thought  of  God  is  in  them  both ; 
Else  love,  to  speak  them,  would  be  all  too  loth. 

"  Goodnight !  "  we  say ;  and  though  the  darkness  fold 
Soft  wings  of  silence,  which  our  darlings  hold, 
Unseen,  unheard,  away ;  yet,  in  our  dreams, 
Which  are  the  soul's  continued  life,  there  seems 
No  night,  no  silence,  but  they  still  are  near, 
And  the  heart  rests  content,  and  has  no  fear. 

We  dare  not  say  "  Goodnight,"  when  the  far  deeper 
Darkness  falls,  which  we  call  death,  and  why? 
Because  while  we  are  in  the  dark,  the  sleeper 
Wakes  in  the  very  Light  of  Life ;  and  so,  "  Goodbye  " 
We  say,  and  the  dear  word  comes  back  in  sweet  reply, 
"  God  with  us  "  both,  and  we  with  Him,  who  live,  who 
die. 

And  this  is  my  Goodbye  to  you,  dear  friend, 

Which  crosses  seas,  and  bridges  shore  to  shore. 

God  has  been  with  you,  will  be,  to  the  end, 

And  with  those  sweetest  souls  passed  on  before. 

And  you,  and  they,  and  I,  by  power  of  this  dear  prayer, 

Are  one,  in  His  unfailing  love  and  ceaseless  care. 

113 


Mrs.  Spencer  Trask 

K.  N.  T. 
I 

HELD  in  high  honour  through  all  England's  story, 
Three  letters,  added  to  a  noble  name, 
Since  ever  Arthur  ruled  in  royal  glory, 
A  nature,  gallant,  pure  and  true,  proclaim. 

Not  by  mere  chance,  but  this  true  story  telling, 
The  knightly  surname  comes  of  right  to  thee ; 

Pure    heart,    high   thought,  brave,  gracious    courtesy 

dwelling 
In  the  fair  Ladye,  yclept  "  K.  N.  T.  " 

II 

IN  THE  TOWER  AT  YADDO 

O  lifted  eye,  overlooking  earth, 
O  lifted  heart  that  grasps  the  sky, 
Thine  is  the  gift  of  holiest  birth, 
Thine  the  fast  hold  of  things  on  high. 
To  thee,  the  things  of  time  unseen, 
The  eternal  vision  shines  serene. 
114 


Ill 

NEW  OLD  FRIENDS 

Words  there  are,  whose  friendship  measures 
Years  or  days,  one  knows  not  whether, 

Old  they  seem,  like  heir-loom  treasures, 
New,  like  flowers  in  sweet  spring  weather. 

Hearts  no  measure  take  of  time, 

Save  the  measure  of  the  rhyme 

Of  the  pulses,  that,  in  tune, 

Ebb  and  flow  like  tides  to  moon. 


115 


Felicissimo  Natale! 

A  Christmas  word  to  my  children  in  Italy 

SOFT  fall  the  accents  of  the  Tuscan  speech, 
Like  lapping  waves  against  a  sandy  beach, 
And  sweet  the  sounds,   that  ripple   from  the 
tongue 
Of  that  fair  land,  which  poets  all  have  sung. 

"  Felice,  felicissimo  natale !  "    Pray 
My  darlings,  take  this  greeting  for  to-day. 
We,  in  our  harder,  wholesome  words,  at  home, 
Say  "  Merry  Christmas,"  and  the  wish  will  come, 

That,  either  we  were,  where  they  call  this  day 
Festa  di  natale ;  or  you,  here,  to  say 
"  Christmas  "  and  Merry  Christmas,  for  'twould  be 
Most  merry,  with  you  this  side  of  the  sea. 

But  thank  God,  darlings,  whatsoe'er  the  speech, 
In  which  we  phrase  it,  'tis  the  same  to  each, 
English,  Italian,  or  in  any  tongue, 
In  which  the  carol  "  peace  on  earth  "  is  sung. 

And  so  "  felice  "  "  merry  "  let  us  say, 

As  much  as  may  be  here,  you  all  away; 

Or  there,  where  children  are;  and  Christmas  cheer, 

Where  children  are  not,  is  a  trifle  drear. 

Still  "happy,"  "merry"  for  the  blessed  Gift, 
To  heaven  our  thankful  hearts  we  all  will  lift, 
And  keep  our  Christmas,  half  across  the  sea, 
Half  here,  as  you  do,  darlings,  thankfully. 

116 


An  Offering  in  Gold 

(For  the  Cathedral  Endowment  Fund  from  the  Sisters  of  the 
Holy  Child) 


Y 


OUR  gift,  dear  Sisters,  does  to  me  unfold 
What  alchemists  sought  vainly  for  of  old, 
The  magic  mystery  of  making  gold. 


Light  first  the  holy  fire  of  sacrifice ; 
Kindle  with  breath  of  love,  till  it  arise 
Like  incense  winged  and  wafted  to  the  skies. 

Then  put  in  poverty,  and  stir,  with  prayer, 
The  smelting  stuff  of  constant  toil  and  care, 
And  the  result  is  gold,  pure,  rich  and  rare. 


The  Golden  Wedding  at  Edge- 
water 

MR.  AND  MRS.  G.  POMEROY  KEESE 

TWO  fresh  sails  set  to  catch  the  morning  breeze, 
Bearing  one  bark  to  sail  on  unknown  seas; 

Roi  et  Reine, 
Roy  and  his  Queen ; 

These  the  two  sails,  and  this  the  bark ;  at  ease 
Floating  and  drifting,  steering  where  they  please. 

Fair  winds  or  adverse,  clear  or  cloudy  weather, 
No  matter  which,  while  they  go  on  together ; 

And  one  by  one, 

Daughter  and  son, 

Make  either  crew  or  cargo,  as  you  please, 
Of  the  staunch  craft  that  bears  the  name  of  Keese. 

Till,  to  the  softer  winds  of  evening,  sails  still  set, 
Rich  with  the  memories  neither  can  forget, 

At  dear  Edgewater 

With  each  son  and  daughter, 
In  peaceful  harbour  lit  with  sunset  gold, 
Love  is  still  young,  though  half  a  century  old. 


118 


Daniel  Webster 

"  The  rock  shall  guard  his  rest,  and  the  ocean  sound  his 
dirge  " 

ROLL  up,  old  Ocean,  thine  eternal  surge 
And  tune  thy  strong  and  everlasting  voice, 
To  its  most  sad,  most  solemn,  grandest  dirge, 
In  such  a  requiem  worthy  of  thy  choice. 

Stand  firm,  thou  gray  and  bearded  rock  of  strength, 
God's  tomb,  to  guard  such  consecrated  dust ; 

And  watch,  through  time's  unseen,  mysterious  length, 
Thy  sleeper;  proud  in  such  a  sacred  trust. 

His  fame,  old  Ocean,  like  thy  ceaseless  flow, 

Swells  onward,  upward,  where  thou  art  not  known; 

His  name,  the  rock,  that  ages  still  shall  know 
To  stand  the  firmest  thing,  unreached,  alone. 

"  Thy  rod,  thy  staff  ",  oh  gracious  God,  have  stayed 

The  rod  that  stayed  our  nation  from  its  fall ; 

And  in  Thy  Life,  the  man  that  Thou  hast  made, 

"  Still  lives ;  "  and  is  more  living  than  we  all. 


iiq 


Amasa  J.  Parker 


AN.  ^ET.  LXXX 

HOW  shall  we  greet  him,  honoured  among  men, 
Who  has  not  only  passed  three  score  and  ten, 
But  bears  the  weight  of  all  these  eighty  years, 
Unbent,  unbroken,  eye  undimmed  with  tears, 
And  natural  force,  like  Patriarch  of  old, 
All  unabated  ;    and  his  age  untold 
But  by  his  honours  !    Let  us  write  in  gold 
The  glory  of  such  age;  to  which,  unrolled 
Like  a  long,  pleasant  pathway,  all  the  past, 
Filled  with  strong  purposes  from  first  to  last, 
Lies  bathed  and  basking  in  the  sunset  rays 
Of  peace,  content,  renown  and  length  of  days. 
We  hail  him  victor  in  a  fight  well  fought, 

Crowned  with  the  laurels  plucked  from  many  a  field  ; 
Who  learned  by  teaching,  and  while  learning  taught, 

And  made  both  life  and  books  their  wisdom  yield. 
Statesman  and  jurist,  strong  in  earnest  plea, 
And  wise  in  counsel,  judging  righteously  : 
Blest  beyond  men  in  all  that  sweetens  life, 
Home,  children,  children's  children,  truest  wife: 
Chief  among  equal  citizens,  he  bears 

Our  City's  name  to  honour  high  and  fair  : 
With  simple  ease  his  well-won  crown  he  wears: 

"  Serus  in  coelum  redeat  :  "    This  our  prayer. 

120 


Gladstone 

FOREMOST  of  English-speaking  men  in  all  the 
lands 
Ruled  by  our  English  speech,  great  Gladstone 
stands. 

Scholar  and  statesman,  patriot  and  Premier 
Of  England :  lordlier  than  the  titled  Peer 
Who  office  holds,  for  just  the  passing  hour, 
But  yields  to  him  the  premiership  of  power. 

Versed  in  all  knowledge,  sacred  and  profane, 
Our  Holy  Faith  most  valiant  to  maintain. 
The  friend  of  freedom,  facing  loss  and  scorn 
To  lift  from  dust  the  friendless  and  forlorn. 
Lover  of  England's  homes,  and  England's  state, 
With  will  to  make  her  rather  good  than  great. 

Careful  perhaps  far  more  of  rule  at  home, 
Than  of  the  glories  which  from  empire  come ; 
Changing,  'tis  said,  as  all  things  change  that  grow, 
Changing  to  meet  events  that  onward  go. 
Leading,  yet  following,  the  great  people's  will, 
And  bound  the  leader's  mission  to  fulfill. 

Glad-stone,  well  named,  since  he  who  maketh  glad 
The  hearts  of  men,  himself  however  sad, 
Has  highest  gladness ;  and  a  very  stone 
Of  precious  worth,  a  jewel  in  the  throne 
Of  truest  sovereignty,  which  rules  and  reigns, 
In  the  high  realm  of  thought  whose  wide  domains 
No  one  land  limits,  no  one  age  contains : 
His  own  beloved  Homer's  hero  lives  again 
In  him,  whom  I  account  a  "  King  of  men." 

121 


To  Dr.  Furness 

(After  hearing  him  read  Henry  V.,  and  Julius  Caesar) 

GOD  findeth  water  in  most  various  ways, 
For  thirsting  souls  in  life's  most  desert  days. 
Some  dig,  or  bore,  or  pump  with  might  and 
main; 

To  some,  a  mirage  o'er  a  dry,  flat  plain, 
To  some,  a  green  oasis  in  the  sand, 
Tells  of  the  crystal  moisture  near  at  hand. 
But  the  most  wondrous  gift  is  his,  whose  hand, 
With  the  witch-hazel,  in  unmeant  command, 
Points  where  no  eye  had  seen,  nor  search  had  found, 
To  some  unmarked,  unlikely  piece  of  ground, 
And  strikes — as  Moses'  rod,  the  Rock — the  place, 
Where  a  fair  Naiad  hides  her  modest  face. 

This  is  thy  art,  my  friend.     Where  ponderous  pumps 
Artesian  bores,  deep-diggers — critics  called — 

Have  worried  Shakspeare's  wonder-world,  with  thumps 
And  throes  of  toil,  thy  magic  wand,  enthralled 

With  the  sweet  witchcraft  of  thy  thought  and  voice, 
Touches,  now  here,  now  there,  spots  bare  and  bald, 

And  a  fresh  spring  of  beauty  makes  our  hearts  rejoice. 


122 


Mr.   Story's    Monument   to  his 
Wife 

HERE  what  is  mortal  rests,  of  two  true  hearts 
Whose  never  broken  oneness  nothing  parts. 
Learn  well  the  language  of  this  marble  speech ! 
Love  is  immortal.     So  is  Life.     And  each 
Gives  to  the  other  its  immortalness, 
Since  Love  is  everliving;  and  unless 
Life  loves,  it  dies.     Here  Love  undying  weeps 
Its  other  life,  which  is  not  dead,  but  sleeps 
Till  the  dear  dream  is  over.     Now,  awake 
In  Paradise,  all  parting  past,  no  ache 
Of  heart,  no  tear,  no  fear,  but  perfect  peace, 
In  that  fair  world,  where  all  our  troublings  cease ; 
And  the  true  heart,  which  carved  the  stone,  became 
More  than  before,  endowed  with  deathless  fame. 


123 


Victoria 

DUMB  in  amazement  of  unhoped-for  joy, 
The  priest  wrote  down  the  words,  "  His  name 

is  John;" 

And  straight  his  tongue  was  loosened,  and  the  boy 
Bore  that  new  name  of  grace,  so  strangely  won. 

Surely  a  priestly  hand,  with  prophet  eye, 

Gave  to  the  little  child  so  long  ago, 
The  name  that  she  has  lived,  and  lifted  high 

Its  meaning,  for  the  whole  wide  world  to  know. 

Victoria!  conquering  not  as  men  who  win 
The  world's  great  battles  in  the  fields  of  war, 

With  stain  of  blood,  and  strain  of  arms,  and  din 
Of  rolling  drums  and  trumpets'  brazen  blare. 

Not  victor,  but  Victoria ;  the  maiden,  first, 

When  her  young  girlhood  mistressed  all  her  fears, 

Till  then  in  childhood's  ways  and  works  immersed, 
Took  up  the  burden,  for  these  long,  long  years. 

Of  sovereignty's  hard  service,  and  has  been 
Not  England's  ruler,  India's  Empress  proud, 

But,  where  the  English  speech  is,  just  "  the  Queen," 
Before  whose  throne  all  reverent  hearts  have  bowed. 
124 


Victoria,  "  ruling  her  own  spirit,"  first, 
Her  heart,  her  home,  as  loyal  wife  and  true, 

Conquering  her  agony  when  the  sorrow  burst 

That  widowed  her:  while,  through  her  grief,  she 
grew 

More  tender  in  her  touch  of  others'  pain ; 

Till  of  her  sorrows  she  had  made  a  throne, 
On  which,  as  woman,  farther  still  to  reign 

In  hearts,  her  sovereign  sympathy  who  own. 

"  Choice  vessel !  "  "  silver,  gold  and  precious  stones," 
Were  wrought  and  set  by  God's  own  hand  in  thee ; 

Silver,  gold,  diamond  jubilee,  each  owns 
Thy  conquests  won,  thy  gracious  Majesty. 

Outlived  the  century,  young  yet  at  your  birth, 
Still  the  "  Victorian  era  "  this  shall  be, 

Bearing  thy  name,  though  Jubilee  of  mirth 
Become  a  "  miserere  Domine." 

For  now,  Victoria,  gone  aside  to  die 
Alone,  unconquered,  victory  still  is  thine, 

Through  the  dear  might  of  Him,  on  Whom  thine  eye 
Is  fixed,  and  fastened  on  His  conquering  sign. 

Through  life,  in  death,  thy  deathless  name  Victoria 
Shall  ever  live.     Sit  Deo  omnis  gloria. 


125 


(Instead  of  the  Boar's  Head  on  Twelfth  Night  at  Yaddo,*  a 
white  dove  living  and  fluttering  on  the  finger  of  his  captor 
is  brought  into  the  great  hall,  and  the  song  is  the  inter- 
pretation of  the  substitution  of  the  bird  for  the  old  "  caput 
apri.") 

Greeting  to  the  Dove 

AVE  avis  albior 
Nive,  et  nitidior; 
Nidus  terra,  coeli  nauta, 
Vitae,  pads,  nuntia. 


Not  a  rude  relic,  of  those  rougher  days, 

When  roystering  feasts  and  cruel  sports  prevailed; 

When  the  fierce  boar,  by  fiercer  men  assailed, 
Sent  in  his  head  all  garlanded  with  bays, 

To  mock  this  peaceful  time,  with  scars  of  strife, 

And  give  dead  greetings  to  the  Prince  of  Life: 

I  come  to  share  the  wassail  of  this  Day, 
And  take  my  part  in  Yaddo's  festal  play, 
Telling  the  spirit  of  this  gracious  place, 

Where  Lord  and  Ladye  lend  their  courtly  grace 
To  kindlier  sports,  and  feasts,  whose  revelry 
Fits  the  fair  Feast  of  Christ's  Epiphany. 


*  The  home  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Spencer  Trask  in  Saratoga. 
126 


THE  DOVE'S   SONG. 

Fair  Yaddo's  woods  are  green  and  still, 

The  pines  shoot  high  above  the  snow, 
Where  free  from  fierce  pursuit  to  kill, 

The  minstrel  birds  fly  to  and  fro, 
And  sing  their  carols  to  the  star, 
Which  led  the  wise  men  from  afar. 

My  feathers,  whiter  than  the  snow, 

Mean  Mary,  Virgin  pure  and  true, 
And  Jesus,  of  all  men  below, 

The  only  sinless-born,  for  you: 
To  maid  and  wife  and  man  and  child, 
I  tell  of  pureness  undefiled. 

Chorus. 

Holy  Jesu,  Baby,  born  of  blessed  Mary, 
Simple  shepherds  know  Thee  God,  and  sages  own  Thee 

King, 
Thee  the  world  shall  worship  with  love  that  cannot 

vary, 
Holy  Lord  and  Saviour,  men  and  angels  sing. 

Mine,  too,  the  symbol  of  true  love, 

And  life  and  peace,  worth  all  beside ; 
Gifts  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  the  Dove, 

That  broods  o'er  the  baptismal  tide, 
Enkindling  love,  creating  life, 
And  breathing  peace,  in  sin's  sore  strife. 

127 


So  come  I,  where  these  graces  four, 

Peace,  Purity  and  Life  and  Love 
Make  their  abode ;  and  more  and  more, 

The  Blessed  Spirit  from  above, 
His  heavenly  gifts  abundant  sends, 
On  Yaddo's  hosts  and  Yaddo's  friends. 

Chorus. 

Holy  Jesu,  Baby,  born  of  blessed  Mary, 
Simple  shepherds  own  Thee  God,  and  sages  own  Thee 

King, 
Thee  the  world  shall  worship  with  love  that  cannot 

vary, 
Holy  Lord  and  Saviour,  men  and  angels  sing. 


128 


The  First  Midsummer  Tree 

At  our  summer  home  in  North-East  Harbour  for  many 
years,  till  the  trees  grew  too  tall  and  the  children  too  old,  we 
kept  the  custom  of  an  outdoor  feast  for  children  and  friends, 
which  originated  in  the  thought  of  my  eldest  grand-daughter 
when  she  was  three  years  old.  Three  of  the  yearly  rhymes  are 
printed  here  for  the  sake  of  the  children  and  the  friends. 

SING  hey,  sing  ho,  the  Midsummer  Tree, 
With  its  branches  spreading  far  and  free, 
Come,  little  Child,  come  here  and  see, 
What  sort  of  fruit  it  bears  for  thee. 

THE  CHILD 

Balsam  and  cone  and  needle  of  pine, 
These  things  grow  on  the  neighbours  of  thine. 
How  comes  it,  then,  dear  Midsummer  Tree, 
That  such  strange  fruits  have  grown  on  thee? 

THE  MIDSUMMER  TREE 

I  was  growing  here  in  the  scented  wood, 
Growing  as  fast  as  ever  I  could, 
With  dews  from  the  earth  and  salt  from  the  sear 
Hoping  to  grow  to  a  Christmas  Tree ; 

But  a  dear  little  girl  had  a  gracious  thought, 
And  coming  here  in  the  wood,  she  sought 
For  a  tree  that  would  bear  such  fruits  as  these, 
Her  little  neighbours  and  friends  to  please. 

129 


For  "  Christmas,  "  she  said,  "  is  long  away, 
And  we  want  a  tree  on  a  Midsummer  day, 
Where  we  can  come  and  frolic  there, 
Out  in  the  fresh  and  fragrant  air." 

So  I  bent  my  boughs  to  the  kindly  hands, 
Ready  to  follow  such  sweet  commands, 
And  soon  there  grew  such  fruits  as  these, 
You  may  gather  them  now,  as  soon  as  you  please. 

For  "  the  trees  of  the  wood  rejoice  "  alway, 
To  join  with  the  children  in  merry  play ; 
And  the  same  great  Love,  so  rich  and  free, 
Decks  both  the  Midsummer  and  Christmas  Tree. 


130 


The  Midsummer  Tree 

A.  D. 1891 
A   MIDSUMMER   DAY'S   DREAM 

PUCK. 

This  is  the  ground  enchanted, 
Where  elves  and  brownies  roam; 

This  is  the  spot  most  haunted 
By  fairies.      'Tis  their  home. 

TITANIA. 
Hush,  Puck,  the  little  children, 

That  through  this  woodland  go, 
You  must  not  be  bewildering; 

Speak  softly,  still  and  low; 
For  all  these  sweet  bewitchers, 

Made  out  of  common  clay, 
Like  other  little  pitchers, 

Have  long  ears,  so  they  say. 

PUCK. 
No  fear,  fair  Queen,  'tis  night-time ; 

The  little  children  come 
In  sunny  daylight's  bright  time; 

'Tis  only  we  who  roam, 
When  the  fair  moon's  bright  lantern 

Hangs  high  up  in  the  sky, 
And  makes  the  stars  all  twinkle, 

As  each  one  blinks  its  eye. 
131 


TITANIA. 

Yes,  but  my  quick  ear  catches 

A  sound  quite  new  and  strange; 
Send  for  the  elf  who  watches 

These  pine-trees,  for  some  change 
Is  creeping  through  and  through  them, 

The  branches  bend  so  low; 
Some  charm  is  here  to  woo  them, 

The  secret  I  would  know. 

And  then  Puck  flew  o'er  land  and  sea, 

And  asked  of  every  growing  tree, 

And  the  rocks  and  flowers  questioned  he, 

And  the  soft  waves  lapping  lazily 

The  Harbour-side,  and  the  cliff-walk,  where 

Strollers  and  sketchers,  maidens  fair, 

With  fancy  free,  and  many  a  pair 

Of  lovers  saunter;  and  men  sedate, 

And  matrons,  through  the  welcoming  gate, 

Find  winding  ways  for  wandering  feet, 

And  grateful  shade  and  restful  seat, 

And  this  is  the  story  he  heard,  they  say, 

Of  the  Dream  of  a  dear  Midsummer's  Day. 

Here,  in  this  far  off  Island, 
With  its  harbour  sheltered  and  still, 

With  its  valleys  fair,  and  its  high  land 
Moulded  to  many  a  hill ; 
132 


With  its  green-clad  sweeps  of  dry  land, 

Rolling  to  kiss  the  sea ; 
With  its  spot  that  my  darling  called  "  my  land,  " 

The  dearest  of  all  to  me ; 

With  its  murmuring  pines  and  larches, 

And  the  silvery  birch  between ; 
Whose  blue  sky  overarches 

A  sea  of  a  deeper  sheen ; 

With  its  subtle  charm  of  vision, 

Half  veiled  and  half  revealed, 
And  its  atmosphere  Elysian, 

Bathing  each  flowery  field ; 

Here,  as  in  Shakspeare's  fancy, 

I  dream  of  a  merry  play, 
That  would  say  to  the  fairies,  "  Dance  ye  " 

If  fairies  could  dance  by  day; 

That  would  wake  Hippolyta's  voice,  in 

A  word  of  queenly  praise, 
That  Titania  would  rejoice  in, 

As  fair  as  her  moonlight  maze. 

Here  the  children  find  in  summer 

A  Christmas  Tree  in  bloom, 
With  a  gift  for  every  comer, 

And  a  welcome  to  all  who  come. 
133 


Neighbours  and  friends  all  gather, 
For  the  Master  and  Mistress,  here, 

Of  dear  "  Ye  Haven  "*  would  rather 
To  all,  give  goodly  cheer. 

And  the  merry  children's  voices 

Make  music  in  the  ear, 
And  the  wood-thrush  too  rejoices, 

To  mingle  his  note  so  clear; 

And  the  dear  old  Madame  Peabody, 

Repeats  her  name  so  loud, 
She  must  be  Grandma,  the  wee  body, 

To  all  the  childish  crowd. 

And  the  woodland  glows  with  colour, 
Bright  ribbands  and  golden  curls; 

Its  browns  and  blues  are  duller 

Than  the  eyes  of  the  boys  and  girls. 

And  this  is  the  Children's  reality, 

Of  a  Child's  Midsummer  Day's  dream; 

For  the  fancies  of  sweet  ideality 
Are  fairer,  made  real,  than  they  seem. 


*  Mrs.  James  T.  Gardiner's  summer  home. 


134 


The  Midsummer  Tree 

A.  D.  1895 
PROLOGUE 

WHAT  is  the  fairest  thing  we  see, 
Dear  friends,  who  have  come  to  the  Mid- 
summer Tree, 

Earth,  or  air,  or  sky  or  sea? 
In  this  blessed,  island,  summer  home, 
To  which,  from  year  to  year,  we  come, 
From  which  our  fond  hearts  never  roam; 
Earth,  or  air,  or  sea  or  sky, 
Which  of  the  four,  to  the  seeing  eye 
Is  fairest?    That's  what  we  want  to  try 
To  settle  to-day.    And  you  and  I 
Will  hear  what  they  have  to  say  for  themselves, 
Speaking  through  each  one's  chosen  elves, 
One  that  swims  and  one  that  delves, 
And  two  that  fly.    Which  is  most  fair, 
Earth  or  sea,  or  sky  or  air? 
Listen,  and  then  decide  if  you  dare, 
Mortals  of  merely  human  birth ! 
Of  charms  in  each  there  is  no  dearth, 
Sky  and  air  and  sea  and  earth. 


135 


THE  ELVES 

THE  EARTH 

Fairest  of  four  I  claim  to  be ; 
I  guard  the  roots  of  each  stately  tree ; 
Busy  am  I  with  every  hour, 
To  bear  some  sweeter,  fresher  flower, 
From  the  tiny  violet  first  to  peep, 
Waking  from  Winter's  silent  sleep; 
The  May-flower's  pink  lips  whispering  low, 
Of  the  living  warmth  in  the  sun's  bright  glow, 
To  the  brown  leaves  stripped  of  their  sheet  of  snow ; 
Twin-flower,  bunch-berry,  marguerite, 
Hare-bells  chiming  their  notes  so  sweet; 
Wild  roses,  to  crown  the  May  Queen,  meet; 
And  the  grasses,  carpets  for  passing  feet ; 
Till  I  rule,  like  a  king,  with  my  golden-rod, 
Under  whose  sway  the  asters  nod. 
And  when  the  flowers  have  bloomed  and  gone, 
Lest  the  world  seem  weary  and  lost  and  lone, 
I  gild  the  hillsides,  lower  and  higher, 
With  trees  and  bushes  that  burn  with  fire, 
Like  the  Angel  vision,  to  Moses'  eye, 
On  the  holy  ground  which  he  drew  not  nigh. 
I  give  their  pasture  to  herds  and  flocks 
I  gird  the  sea  with  my  glorious  rocks, 
And  mine  is  the  gift,  to  man  and  maid, 
Under  blazing  skies,  of  the  grateful  shade ; 
And  mine,  the  standpoint  from  which  your  eye 
Sees  beauty  in  air  and  sea  and  sky. 

136 


THE   SEA 

O  mother  Earth,  time  was  when  you 

Were  hidden  far  from  human  view, 

Under  my  deep,  deep  waves  that  rolled, 

And  ruled,  alone,  in  the  days  of  old. 

Fairest  of  all  am  I,  the  sea; 

Tossing  my  waves  in  gayest  glee, 

Breaking  in  crests  of  silvery  spray, 

With  my  countless  smiles  on  a  summer  day, 

Green  as  an  emerald,  sapphire  blue, 

Jewel-coloured  with  every  hue, 

When  the  sunset  makes  a  mirror  of  me, 

Its  own  rare,  radiant  tints  to  see. 

On  me  swift  winged  sailers  float, 

1  bear  on  my  bosom  the  "  Only  "*  boat ; 

And  the  coolness  that  tempers  the  hottest  days, 

And  the  gray  fog-drifts  and  the  wind  that  plays, 

Fragrant  and  fresh,  with  the  smell  of  pine, 

All  these  are  the  charms  I  claim  as  mine. 

While  under  my  surface,  opal  rings 

Twirl  in  the  tide,  intangible  things : 

And  the  other  fish,  not  made  of  jelly, 

Some  of  them  scaly,  and  some  of  them  shelly, 

Offer  themselves  for  sport  or  gain, 

Or  food  that  manufactures  brain. 

Hence  wise  professors  and  presidents 

And  authors  and  parsons  are  residents, 

All  of  them  tempted  here  by  me, 

I  am  the  fairest  of  all,  the  Sea. 

*  The  name  of  the  family  row-boat. 
137 


THE  SKY 

Up,  hearts  and  eyes,  and  gaze  on  me, 

For  I  am  fairer  than  all  the  three ; 

Roofing  the  earth  and  spanning  the  ocean, 

Sublime  and  still,  in  the  restless  motion 

Of  tossing  sea  and  the  turning  world,' 

I  fling  out  banners  of  cloud  unfurled, 

I  roll  out  tfie  flaunting  flags  of  mist, 

By  the  shining  sunlight  coloured  and  kissed ; 

I  set  the  solemn  march  of  the  stars, 

To  "  the  music  of  spheres.  "    The  golden  bars 

Of  the  sunbeams  open  my  palace  gate, 

From  dewy  morn  till  the  twilight  late, 

And  close  them  again,  till  the  queenly  moon 

Turns  midnight  into  a  silver  noon ; 

And  never  a  colour  on  land  or  sea, 

That  is  not  borrowed  or  stolen  from  me, 

And  mine  is  the  gilt  to  your  eyes  of  sight, 

For  the  Sky  is  the  giver  to  all,  of  Light ! 

THE  AIR 
I  am  the  Air 
J  claim  the  prize ; 
I  cannot  tell  you  all  the  why's, 
Of  weather-wise  and  otherwise ; 
But  all  that  is  fair, 
Earth,  sea  or  skies, 
You  could  not  see 
If  it  were  not  for  me. 
138 


Artists  call  me  atmosphere, 

Now  isn't  it  clear 

That  I  am  the  fairest, 

Who  make  all  fair? 

Purest  and  rarest 

And  sweetest  air ! 

Breathe  me,  and  smell  me  and  look  through  me, 
I'm  health  and  fragrance  and  power  to  see. 

BETTY  LOQUITOR 

I'm  nobody's  elf, 

I'm  not  one  of  the  four, 
I'm  simply  myself, 

And  nothing  more ; 
I  am  just  little  Betty, 
I  think  they're  all  pretty, 
None  more,  none  less 

Earth,  air,  sky,  sea; 
And  so,  I  guess, 

You'll  agree  with  me. 

EPILOGUE 

Dear  friends,  if  you  find  yourselves  hardly  tasked, 
To  answer  the  question  that  we  have  asked, 
Let  me  tell  you  what  one  of  our  wise  men  said, 
Hitting  the  nail  just  on  the  head; 
You  may  call  him  an  algebraic  X, 
Or  guess  at  his  title,  our  Baltimore  "  Prex.  " 
Years  ago,  in  his  gracious  way, 
He  said  of  dear  Northeast,  one  day, 
139 


"  When  I  remember  my  visit  here 
Three  things  will  be  to  my  memory  dear, 
And  take  them  whichever  way  you  will, 
'Twill  be  an  ascending  climax  still, 
The  air  I  breathed,  and  the  views  I  saw, 
And  the  friends  I  met."     So  by  this  law, 
A  wise  conclusion  our  question  ends ; 

Amicus  earth,  amicus  sea 

And  air  and  sky,  both  amici ! 
Magis  amici,  our  dear,  dear  friends 


140 


Terra  Incognita 

AT  NORTH  EAST  HARBOUR 

DAILY,  I  launch  my  dear  old  boat, 
And  always  from  one  strand, 
And  whether  I  row,  or  idly  float 
It  is  all  the  same  to  me ; 
For  I  always  go  to  an  unknown  land 
And  over  an  unknown  sea. 

One  day  the  cliffs  were  yellow  and  red, 

And  another  grey  and  brown ; 
And  the  sparkling  sea,  o'er  which  I  sped, 

Was  jewelled,  one  day,  like  a  crown, 
And  the  next,  'twas  a  mirror  of  glass,  as  still 
'    As  the  shadow  it  took  from  every  hill. 

Out  to  the  sunset  skies,  I  row, 

Over  waves  that  are  purple  and  green, 

Or  gold,  in  the  softened  twilight  glow, 
Or  silver,  in  moonlight  sheen; 

While  the  mountains  are  flecked  with  shadows  fair, 
Or  melt  into  touch  with  the  amber  air. 

And  some  days,  comes  the  soft,  still  mist, 

The  fog  from  "  the  eastern  way," 
And  the  mountain  tops  by  its  wreaths  are  kissed, 

And  loom  up  weird  and  grey, 
And  play  hide  and  seek  with  each  other  and  me, 

While  the  silken  veil  lies  over  the  sea. 
141 


And  so  I  feel,  with  every  day, 
As  the  oar  drops  from  my  hand, 

And  I  catch  the  glow  of  the  sun's  last  ray, 
On  the  rocks  and  the  sea  and  the  sand ; 

That  I've  crossed,  that  day,  an  unknown  sea, 
And  been  to  an  unknown  land. 


142 


NUGAE  ALBANIENSES 


143 


"The  Weather  on   Easter  Day 
Will  be  Fine  and  Clear" 

An  Albany  Weather  Prophecy 

O    SERGEANT  SIMS!  O,  Sergeant  Sims! 
How  could  you  so  believe  in 
5     Wild  April's  wayward  weather-whims 
Which  always  are  deceivin'  ? 

What  milliner's  or  florist's  gold 

Bought  up  the  weather  bureau? 
Next  year,  when  climate  is  foretold, 

Pray  don't  be  quite  so  sure, — O ! 

For  all  the  papers  have  to  say 

Of  Easter,  is  a  bonnet, 
A  gown,  a  shawl,  or  some  display, 

Spoiled,  if  the  rain  fall  on  it. 

To  these,  your  forecasts,  when  untrue, 

Bring  sorrow  and  disaster; 
The  rest  don't  care  a  fig  for  you, 

For  clouds  spoil  no  real  Easter. 


145 


II 
"Amphibious" 

W.  C  D.  to  J.  W. 

With  respectful  dedication, 
To  the  Prince  Bishop  of  the  nation, 

This  most  serious  meditation, 
On  a  coming  visitation. 

SOME  one  jokingly  said,  or  is  said  to  have  said, 
(As  a  joke  it  is  not  worth  a  stater) 
That  amphibious  things  are  so  very  ill  made, 
That  they  never  could  live  on  the  land,  where  they 

stayed, 

And  were  certain  to  die  in  the  water. 
Which  is  false,  as  I'm  sure  I  can  prove  in  a  minute 
For  amphibs  can  leg  it,  or  fly  it,  or  fin  it ; 

And  I  think  should  be  called  tertio-bius ; 
For  a  duck  swims,  and  flies, 
And  walks  round  when  he  tries, 
In  a  waddling  way,  cut  quite  bias. 

I'm  convinced  in  myself,  without  any  impiety, 
That  the  most  complete  instance  of  true  amphi-biety, 
Is  the  animal  Man.     And,  if  one  wants  to  fish  up 
An  instance  in  point,  I  suggest,  that  a  Bishop 
In  or  out  of  his  see,  my  contention  will  prove, 
Being  set  in  a  See,  he  must  swim,  if  he  move, 
And  he  travels  so  fast  that  men  say  that  he  flies, 
(Being  therefore  called  angel    sometimes,  in  sur- 
prise. ) 

146 


And  his  well-gaitered  legs,  when  he  starts  off  so 

pious, 

Make  the  walking,  which  proves  him  to  be  amphi- 
bious. 

But  beside  these  mere  physical  facts,  it  is  true, 
That  a  Bishop  lives  two  or  three  lives,  as  but  few 
Other  men  that  I  know.       There's  his  home-life  of 

"  letters/' 

"  Humanissimae  literae,"  writings  most  human, 
To  his  vestries  and  parsons,  his  elders  and  betters, 
And  to  every  known  kind,  both  of  man  and  of  woman. 
And,  with  much  overlooking,  and  some  overseeing, 
Some  preaching,  some  practicing,  some  merely  being 
At  home,  with  his  books  and  with  those  he  loves  best, 
He  passes  the  time  of  his  nominal  rest. 

Then,  presto,  the  change !     No  two  nights  in  one  bed ; 

With  preaching  incessant,  or  talking  instead ; 

Careful  to  keep  all  politest  proprieties, 

Collated,  "  Received  ",  and  incessantly  fed 

With  chicken  (cold),  cakes  and  all  manner  of  pie-ties, 

Lemonade,  tea  and  all  such  inebrieties ; 

Locomotion  in  vehicles  of  all  varieties, 

Sent  to  convey  the  Right  Rev.  amphibieties, 

Car  or  caboose,  buggy,  steamer  or  train ; 

Up  hill  and  down  dale,  over  water  and  plain, 

Only  stopping  at  night,  to  begin  it  again ; 

He's  a  fish  in  his  see,  he's  a  tramp  on  the  land, 

And  in  baggy  lawn  sleeves  like  a  big  bird,  he'll  stand, 

As  the  type  of  a  deutero-tertio-biety ; 

And  so  ends  my  contention,  to  your  full  satiety. 


147 


Ill 
A  Bill  of  Sale 

Written,  with  the  three  that  follow,  in  connection  with  the 
sales  of  the  Woman's  Cathedral  League  in  its  early  days. 


H 


ERE'S  a  receipt  for  a  fine  lobster  salad, 
Arranged  in  the  form  of  an  elegant  ballad. 


Here  are  fine  etchings  by  Architect  Gibson, 
Which  must  have  been  done  with  pens  having  fine 
nibs  on. 

Paintings  by  Palmer — (I  think  there's  but  one), 
But  besides  this,  are  several  done  by  the  sun. 

You  may  look  far  and  wide  and  you'll  not  find  to- 
gether, 
More  beautiful  specimens  of  work  done  in  leather. 

And  as  for  embroideries,  here  you  will  find 
Cloths  rich  with  the  glories  of  Ormus  and  Ind. 

Look  next  at  this  table :  the  last  things  in  tin, 

Tin  for  tin :  tit  for  tat :  if  you'll  buy  them  you'll  win. 

Plants  cut  and  plants  growing,  a  beautiful  show 
Shed  a  tropical  fragrance  in  spite  of  the  snow. 

Plum  puddings  for  Christmas,  and  cakes  for  to-day  ^ 
Candies,  candidly  speaking,  much  sweetness  display. 

148 


And  the  babies  and  cradles  and  doll-clothes  so  fine 
Make  the  eyes  of  the  little  girls  twinkle  and  shine. 

Books,  and  carols  and  hymns,  and  a  picture  of  him 
Who  composed  them,  among  his  books,  sitting  up  prim. 

China  and  glass  and  each  kind  of  a  basket 

If  you  don't  see  the  price,  you  have  only  to  ask  it. 

If  you  think  you  can  find  a  collection  that's  better,  or 
Choicer,  I  beg  you'll  examine  the  "  et  cetera. " 


149 


IV 

A  Lobster  Salad 

PRELIMINARY 

WHERE  waves  break  softly,  on  the  wooded 
rocks 
Of  Maine's  indented,  island-sheltered  shore, 
And  cold  and  clear  as  ice  the  waters  roar 
And  kiss  the  spruce  trees  and  the  fair  hemlocks ; 
There,  for  the  sweetest  of  crustaceans,  look, 
Caught  without  line  and  captured  without  hook: 
Dipped  in  the  pot,  he  blushes  from  the  sense 
Of  all  men's  praises  of  his  excellence. 

There,  where  rolls  Arno's  sunny  tide  along, 
To  the  sweet  rhythm  of  great  Dante's  song; 
Where  grow  the  trees,  whose  leaf  is  sign  of  peace, 
Whose  fruit,  of  holy  gifts;  seek;  do  not  cease 
Your  search,  till  one-half  cup  of  golden  oil 
Rewards  your  seeking,  and  the  presser's  toil. 

Next  homeward  come,  where,  from  some  dairy  clean, 
And  cool  with  running  spring,  milk  from  the  queen 
Of  some  choice  herd,  has  clotted  into  cream, 
Smooth,    white,    sweet,    soft,    like   some    midsummer 

dream. 

Skim  one-half  cup  full,  beat  it  into  foam, 
Like  that  which  from  full  udders  first  did  come. 

Away  again  to  tropic  clime,  and  find 
A  fragrant  lemon,  with  its  spicy  rind; 

150 


Whose  strained  juice  is  needed,  to  complete 
The  added  sugar — one-half  teaspoon — ,  sweet 
And  powdered :  and  'twill  then  not  all  be  fixed, 
Without  a  teaspoonful  of  mustard,  vinegar-mixed. 

A  pinch  of  cayenne  pepper  sprinkle  in, 

A  teaspoonful  of  salt,  and  then  begin 

Breaking  two  eggs,  to  beat  their  yolks  to  foam, 

(Fresh  as  may  be  from  neighbouring  farmers'  home) 

Six|tablespoons  of  vinegar  must  be 

At  hand,  to  pour  in,  as  you  soon  shall  see. 

PREPARATORY 

Now  note  the  order,  let  there  be  no  fault, 
Mustard  and  pepper,  sugar,  eggs  and  salt, 
In  due  proportion,  must  be  mixed  just  right ; 
And  the  whole  substance  beaten,  till  'tis  light. 
Then  slowly,  beating  gently  all  the  while, 
Pour  in  the  golden  stream  of  olive  oil. 

And  when  the  mixture  is  quite  smooth  and  thick, 
Whip  in  the  lemon  juice  with  motion  quick; 
And  when  five  minutes  have  been  spent  in  beating, 
Stir  in  the  vinegar:     ('tis  most  fit  for  eating) 
Now  add  the  lobster-flesh,  picked  clean  and  small, 
Mix  well,  and  before  serving,  over  all, 

FINALE 

Pour  the  whipped  cream ;  one-half  at  first ;  and  when 
The  dainty  bowl  with  lettuce  leaves  is  lined, 
And  filled  with  the  cut  lobster  seasoned,  then 
Pour  over  all,  the  whipped  cream  left,  and  mind 
My  words,  the  greatest  epicure  of  men 
Eating  with  smacking  lips,  will  say,  "  I've  dined." 

151 


T 


Muffins 

HERE  surely  is  "  nuffin  " 
More  good  than  a  muffin, 


*    I 

That  has  just  "  quant  suff  "-  M/ 

Of  all  the  nice  things ; 
So  light,  that  it's  puffin ; 
Quite  tender,  no  tough  in 
The  texture  you  stuff  in 

Those  magical  rings. 

If  aunt,  sister,  or  cousin, 
Would  make  just  a  dozen, 

I'll  tell  you  the  way. 
It's  extremely  expedient 
To  have  each  ingredient, 

At  hand,  let  me  say: 
Just  a  pint  of  finest  flour, 
Cream,  just  half  as  much,  or  milk, 

Fresh  from  Jersey  calf  or  cow,  or 
"  Cushy  "  bribed  with  "  gown  of  silk  " : 

Butter,  sugar,  each  a  table- 
Spoonful  ;  then  one  egg  new-laid ; 

Baking  powder,  if  you're  able 
To  decide  the  best  that's  made — 
152 


Just  two  teaspoons:  and  of  salt 
Half  a  teaspoon :  let  no  fault 
Spoil  the  just  proportions  given, 
Which  will  make  it  light  as  leaven. 

Mix  the  flour  and  baking  powder, 
Beat  the  egg  and  sugar  well; 

Melt  the  butter; — You'll  be  prouder 
Than  the  proudest  city  belle 
With  her  muff-in  hand,  so  swell — 

Mix  the  sugared  egg  and  butter; 
('Twill  be  very,  very  utter) 
Beat  the  three  for  just  a  minute ; 
Then  the  salt  and  milk  put  in  it, 

Then  the  baking-powdered  flour 
Must  go  in,  quite  quickly  mixed; 
And  the  whole  be  nicely  fixed, 
In  the  buttered  rings  for  baking: 
And  the  time  that  they'll  be  taking 
To  be  done  brown  for  the  eater, 

Will  be  not  quite  half  an  hour. 
And  the  next  time  that  you  meet  a 
Muffin  man  in  Maiden  Lane, 

This  is  what  he'll  want  to  say, 
Taking  up  his  sad  refrain; 
"  Friend,  I  think  it's  rather  rough  in 
You  to  make  so  good  a  muffin 

That  you  steal  my  trade  away." 
153 


VI 

Crullers 

THE  cruller  with  a  C 
Is  the  spelling  in  Yankee, 
Of  the  kruller  with  a  K, 
Which  the  Dutchman  loves,  they  say, 
Fried  in  lard 
Till  it's  hard ; 

Tis  the  thing,  like  which  none  such 
Can  be  made—"  It  beats  the  Dutch :  " 
And  the  Yankee  thinks  it's  beaten, 
By  no  cakes,  for  breakfast  eaten. 

Than  a  Dutchman  you'll  be  duller 
If  you  fail  to  make  a  kruller, 
By  the  process  I  rehearse, 
In  this  culinary  verse. 
Like  a  Yankee,  you'll  be  cute, 
If  you  make  it  well,  to  suit 
Sons  of  our  old  Holland  stock, 
Daughters  sprung  from  Plymouth  Rock. 

The  things  to  buy,  or  get  by  barter 
Are  eggs,  soda,  cream  of  tartar, 
Sugar,  nutmeg,  flour,  butter, 
Lard,  in  which  to  make  them  splutter, 
i54 


When  the  mixing 

And  the  fixing, 

And  the  wise  use  of  the  cutter, 

Have  made  shapely  rings  of  dough, 

Ready  in  the  pan  to  go. 

First  of  sugar,  cupfuls  two, 
And  of  butter  half  a  cup 
Must  be  beaten  till  they  seem 
White  and  soft,  like  clotted  cream. 
Then  three  egg  yolks  beaten  up 
Must  be  added  thereunto; 
One  teaspoon  of  soda,  stirred 
Jn  one  cup  of  milk,  from  "  herd 
Winding  slowly  o'er  the  lea  ", 
— This  is  quoted  poetry — 
Next  is  poured  in  the  white 
Of  the  eggs,  to  make  it  light. 

All  this  add  now  to  the  flour, 
Well  mixed  in  with  tartar-cream; 

Over  all,  a  little  shower 
Of  brown  nutmeg  put;  nor  deem 
Yet  your  toil  complete — though  hard — 
Till,  dipped  into  boiling  lard, 
Each  round  ring,  well  browned,  not  greasy, 
(And  to  help  this  is  not  easy) 
Not  too  thin,  and  not  too  stout, 
Like  "  linked  sweetness  "  is  drawn  out. 


155 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 


Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed. 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


LD  21-100m-ll,'49(B7146sl6)476 


3732 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


